Lest Ye Be Judged
by abrynne
Summary: "Planning a murder is a delicate process, Mr. Reese. Who knows how long this has been in the works? We cannot ignore any one of the potential threats. These men murdered her family. That fact alone automatically makes her a threat." - Cont'd from Overkill. Things hit close to home for our crew, and we all know too well how uncomfortable that can be.
1. Technical

You know the drill - if not, be sure to read the prequels to this story starting with "Dark Horse", you'll be glad you did. :)

Your reviews are appreciated. Enjoy!

* * *

A game of Solitaire filled the computer monitor. She sat with her chin in her hand and her eyes glazed a bit, moving the cursor over the digital deck of cards. The chat window came up again.

**hfinch:** She's safe.

She clicked on the popup window and typed a reply:

**samsonw:** You were right. He hasn't come out of his office all morning. Making sure his alibi is rock solid. I don't think he knows yet.

**hfinch: **Good. They never had the chance to get to her.

**samsonw: **Won't they still try?

**hfinch:** No. He just finished up with them.

Sam smiled as the phone rang. She crossed her legs under the desk and put the headset on. "Thank you for calling Michael Emerson Realty, this is Samantha, how may I assist you today?"

A female voice responded. "Yes, I would like to speak to Mr. Emerson, please."

Sam checked the phone lines, they were open. "I do apologize," she said in her best sing-song, smiling, customer service voice, "but Mr. Emerson is on the other line at the moment and is not to be disturbed. Would you like to leave a message? Or I can set up an appointment for you."

"Will you put me through to his voice mail?"

"Certainly, please hold one moment," Sam expertly pressed the correct buttons and sent the call to her boss' voice mail box.

The phone rang again as the main door to the office opened.

"I'll be with you in just a moment," Sam said, her voice light and friendly. She answered the phone with the same greeting, gave the same excuse for Mr. Emerson, and took a message on a pad of paper.

She hung up the call, stuck the pencil in the bun at the back of her head, and looked up at a tall man wearing a nice gray suit, and a powder blue button down shirt, no neck tie. He leaned on the reception desk and smiled at her.

"How may I help you?" Sam said.

"You never talk that nicely to me on the phone… or in person, come to think of it," he said.

"Of course not. I'd never speak like this to people I _know_," Sam said as though it was obvious.

"Even Harold was impressed when he called here yesterday. You're too good at this, Sam." He eyed her.

"Let's just say that I've done my share of work in the field of customer service, long before I knew you. I would only go back to it if someone's life was in danger… obviously."

"I'm here to see Mr. Emerson," he said, back to business.

"Do you have an appointment?" Sam raised her eyebrows and, in return, got a look that would have cut glass. "Okay, fine, please have a seat. It will be just one moment."

The man in the suit stepped away from the desk and sat in one of the chairs across from her. Sam dialed an extension.

"Hello, Sam," Mr. Emerson answered.

"Mr. Emerson, I have a gentleman here who wants to meet with you."

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Mike?"

"You know my answer to that, Mr. Emerson," Sam rolled her eyes.

"I'll wear you down yet, Sam," Mr. Emerson teased. "Does he have an appointment?"

"No, but he says it's urgent." Sam gave the gentleman a look over the top of the desk. "A mister..."

"Oh, it's Rooney," he said from his seat.

Sam bit her lip to keep from laughing. "Mr. Rooney is waiting to speak with you."

"Tell him I'm in a meeting, I don't know how long I'll be."

"Okay," Sam said happily and hung up the call.

"Mr. Rooney," she called. The man who called himself Rooney got up and approached the desk.

"Mr. Emerson will see you now," she smiled. "The first office on the left." She pressed a buzzer under the desk, and the door to the business offices unlocked. Rooney stepped through and the door shut behind him.

Sam closed the game of solitaire and entered one more thing into the chat window:

**samsonw:** He's here. Everything I e-mailed to you I have in hard copy as well.

**hfinch**: Excellent. I've already alerted C. I'll see you both soon.

Sam closed the window, deleted the logs, and shut down the computer. She opened a file drawer in the cabinet next to her and pulled out a packet of documents. A shout that sounded distinctly like Mr. Emerson, came from behind the locked door. Sam didn't pay attention to it as she folded up the documents and slipped them into her purse.

She took off the headset, pulled out a couple of Clorox wipes, and wiped down the desk, the keyboard, and the phone.

More shouts and a loud, painful sounding thud against the wall startled her. But she kept working until she took her purse and stepped around to the side of the desk, out of view of the camera above the reception area.

Mr. Rooney entered again, straightening his shirt underneath the suit jacket. He held the door as Sam wedged a door stop under it to keep it from closing again.

"Aw, your hair's a little messed up," Sam said. "Is he still breathing?"

"I'd say so," Rooney said. He brushed his short, dark hair off of his forehead. "He just wasn't as cooperative as we were expecting."

"After working here for four days, I could have told you that."

"Sam!" Someone yelled her name from inside the offices.

"Sam, I want you to call the police on that man!"

"They're already coming, aren't they?" She looked up at Rooney.

"Right."

"Oh, I almost forgot," Sam moved back around behind the desk, opened a drawer and took out a little sign that read "Out to Lunch". She set it on top of the desk and joined Mr. Rooney again.

"Sam! Are you deaf? I told you not to let anyone in!" Mr. Emerson bellowed.

"He's being a little rude," Rooney said, taking a step back to the office door.

"That's nothing compared to what he did a couple of days ago. That man has no shame whatsoever, the misogynist, sleazy, hypocritical ass. How stupid is it to make passes at the very same receptionist who helped book the men he chose to murder his wife?"

"I can hear you, Sam! Who the hell are you talking to? Woman, you'd better get in here in the next five seconds or –"

Rooney moved forward again.

Sam held him back. "He's mostly talk. Don't worry about it John – I mean Mr. Rooney." She let out a laugh.

"What?"

"That's the best name you could come up with? Rooney? It sounds like the name of an inept high school principal."

"It's just a name, Sam."

"But it makes me laugh whenever you say it. Do it, say it again," Sam grinned up at him.

John sighed. "Rooney."

Sam burst out laughing as they headed for the door.

"You have the papers?"

"Right here," Sam held up her purse. "Do you want to get some lunch? I'm starving," she said as John held the door open for her.

"Sure."

The door shut.

"Sam! You stupid woman! I can't get up!"

* * *

John approached the detective slowly. Her back was turned. It always took her a minute to spot him, and he enjoyed it a little. She finally found him and he smiled lightly. Whenever she looked at him, John suspected that she played the 'This is Me, Barely Tolerating You' expression on purpose. Not that it wasn't true, of course.

He pulled a folded packet of papers from inside his suit jacket pocket and held them out to her as he approached. Carter took them from him.

"Financial records on Michael Emerson," Carter read as she started flipping through the packet. "That wouldn't be the same one who was brought into the precinct looking like he'd been mugged, would it?"

"I wouldn't know about that, Detective," John said, looking out at the park and keeping his smile at bay. "I only know that he hired a hit on his wife so the insurance would pay out – "

"Thus saving his dying realty business," Carter finished the scenario for him. He heard the hint of satisfaction in her voice.

"I don't know," John said thoughtfully as he watched a family of four ride past on their bikes. "For two million, I would think about retiring somewhere out of the country."

"I'm glad he didn't get that far."

It was a warm, breezy summer day. People were out enjoying the sunshine and no school. Strange how simple their lives seemed, how peaceful; how normal. A woman came into view, carrying a magazine and a can of soda from one of the nearby newsstands. She glanced casually over him and Carter, tucking a stray piece of hair that had fallen out of her bun behind her ear.

She sat down on a stone bench next to a clump of trees about a hundred yards away, crossed her legs, and began to read the magazine. One of her pointed shoes slipped off of her heel and balanced on her toes, which she moved absently back and forth.

"I've wanted to talk to you about something," Carter said.

"What is it?" John looked down at Carter. Her expression had changed to the ever familiar 'Don't Make Me Kick Your Ass' that he'd seen several times before.

"The FBI is still looking for you, just so you know. The CIA is lying low right now. At least I haven't seen them. Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Carter jerked her head casually towards the woman on the bench.

John looked at her again. She pulled the light, floral skirt she wore over her knees and adjusted her bra strap underneath her blouse when she thought no one was looking, turning a page in the magazine.

"Sam kind of bullied her way in, detective," he said lamely.

"And you of all people let her?"

"She's good," he said flatly, shrugging his shoulders. "She's saved my life."

Carter's eyes narrowed, turning his hypothetical ass kicking into a theoretical one. "And I'm sure you know why, don't you?"

John didn't answer. He shared a short, intimidating staring contest with the detective for a few seconds until Carter looked away and heaved a sigh.

"John, bringing in other people in on this is – "

"I'm not holding auditions, Carter," he said seriously. "You can't tell me that she hasn't been useful."

"It's dangerous," Carter completed her thought. "You have a civilian woman, legally dead, _working_ for you."

"It helps me be in two places at once."

"It will be on you if anything happens to her," Carter said firmly. "Anything _else_, that is."

"Sam chose, detective. And believe it or not, I was against it. I still am, technically."

"Technically."

"She knows I won't let anything happen to her," John said before he thought it through.

Carter studied him for a moment. "I don't need to know anything beyond that. But there might come a time when it won't be up to you. Stay out of trouble, the both of you."

She walked away, dodging some kids on skateboards as John headed in the opposite direction, towards Sam on the bench. His phone rang.

John answered, punching his earpiece. "Hello, Finch. Just finished up with Carter," he said.

"Good. We have another number," Finch's voice came in clearly.

"Already? And here I am, thinking about taking a nap."

"I don't think you'll want to sleep through this one, John."

John stopped walking, hearing the anxiety in Finch's voice. "Who is it?"

"Who are _they_?" Finch corrected. "Three numbers in total. One came first. Three hours later, the last two came at almost exactly the same time. The first one is someone we all know and love, Detective Lionel Fusco. The others are Jerrod Brander and Casey Lovell."

John waited for the punch line. His eyes darted over to Sam, who hadn't looked up from her magazine yet. He lowered his voice, turning his back to her. "They are supposed to go on trial for murdering Sam's parents."

"That is still scheduled for next week. I know that Sam was considering going. But it may be that _someone_," Finch's emphasis on the word was obvious, "might be planning something else for them before that."

John thought quickly. "Call Sam and send her after Fusco."

"That is also potentially dangerous. Have you thought of who might have it in for our detective?"

"HR, or what's left of it."

"Precisely."

"Lionel's a big boy, he can handle himself. But he needs to be warned."

"I agree."

"Finch. Don't tell Sam about this until we know for sure."

"I'm way ahead of you, Mr. Reese."

Finch hung up, and John continued his approach toward Sam. Her phone rang and she dug it out of her purse to answer it.

John sat down on the bench next to her as she continued her conversation.

"I thought they were all in jail?" Sam asked innocently. She paused as Finch explained what John already knew. "Oh, I see. Well, at least he isn't completely defenseless – yeah, sure I'll go right away."

Sam looked at John as she tossed her phone back into her purse. "You will never guess who the new number is. In fact, I'm not sure if you'll like it, actually."

John tried holding back his smile. "Who is it?"

"Lionel!" Sam said, hoping for shock and awe.

"I've been trying not to kill him for months," John admitted.

"This is a little more serious than that. It could be HR still sleazing around," Sam fixed her skirt as she got to her feet. "Harold wants me to go to the police station."

"Here," John dug in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. "Take the car."

Sam took the keys, looking bewildered. "You want me to drive? Are you feeling all right?"

"You also might need this," he took her hand and dropped something in it.

"Your police badge?"

"Trust me. It helps when you need to get into places."

"You're not coming?" Sam asked, holding the badge and the keys.

"I have a few things to wrap up on the last case. I'll catch up."

* * *

There are a couple "see what I did there?" moments in this chapter, I know. But it just seemed to fit. :) And I doubt those will be the last ones.

Thanks for reading. Onward!


	2. Ghosts

John stopped at HQ first. He ran up the steps to the makeshift office and found Harold Finch at the computer desk, busily typing away on the keyboard.

"The attorney representing Brander and Lovell requested that the defendants be released from prison during the trial. They're not a flight risk, and they've pled guilty. I'm surprised the D.A. hasn't made a deal with them."

"Maybe he thinks there's a chance for the maximum sentence," John said. He took off his jacket and leaned against the wall next to the desk. "After all, they murdered two innocent people after breaking into their house."

"Lawyers almost always have their own agenda."

"Like most people, Finch."

"But unlike most people, most lawyers aren't concerned with who they hurt in the process, only their goal."

"You sound like you've had some experience?" John inquired, knowing he wasn't going to get a straight answer.

Finch's eyes never left the monitors, and he continued clacking. "If the D.A. hasn't settled and is letting this go to trial, he's either someone who wants to make more of a name for himself – "

"Or someone else besides the government has him on their payroll."

"We can figure the same for the defense attorney, asking for his clients' freedom as he did."

John pursed his lips after a short silence fell. Both he and Finch were avoiding the elephant in the room. It was Finch who decided to finally focus on it.

"How much time have you spent with Miss Watts recently?" he asked delicately.

"Few hours every day, depending. Sometimes more... " John thought on it further. "She worked in that real estate office for three days straight without much contact."

"Yes, I was considering that as well."

"She wouldn't do it, Finch."

"Are you absolutely certain of that, Mr. Reese?" Finch rested his large, unblinking eyes upon him. When he did that, John sometimes felt that he was being stared at by an overgrown bird.

"She knows how the machine works. She'd know we would figure it out and try to stop her."

"Unless she's kept it to herself until now. Planning a murder is a delicate process, Mr. Reese. Who knows how long this has been in the works? We cannot ignore any one of the potential threats. These men murdered her family. That fact alone automatically makes her a threat." Finch stopped on a page and skimmed through it. John waited patiently. "It looks like Brander and Lovell may be released for the trial once it starts. That's odd."

"Someone get to a judge too?"

"The defense attorney and the judge who made the ruling at the very least. That bypasses the prosecution entirely."

The large bird started at him again. John sighed, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door.

* * *

Sam parked a couple of blocks away from the precinct. She walked the remaining distance, enjoying the weather. Weighing the police badge in her hand, her nerves trembled a little at the idea of technically breaking into a police station. John was a little more confident when it came to that sort of thing. On second thought, he was more confident when it came to most things.

Sam crossed the street, and started on the sidewalk in front of the station when she saw the figure of a stout man with curly brown hair in front of a food cart. He was being handed a pretzel. Relieved, Sam put the badge in her pocket and walked up behind him.

Detective Fusco turned and nearly dropped his pretzel.

"Should you be walking around during the day like this?" he asked, his eyes darting back and forth.

"I'm dead, Lionel, not a vampire," Sam said. "Will you walk with me for a minute?"

Fusco shrugged. "At least you asked instead of ordered me to."

"Killing people with kindness is not really John's forte," Sam joked.

Fusco laughed with a mouth full of pretzel. "Yeah, just killing people with whatever's handy is more like it."

They started walking together, Fusco munching as they moved along. "So, what are you up to now? Is he just teaching you how to sneak up on people?"

Sam smiled. "No, I'm here for you, believe it or not."

"Me?"

"What have you heard regarding the remnants of HR?"

"We got a bunch of them locked up. There is a handful still out there. They're either on the run or lying low. I'm betting on the first one."

"I wouldn't bet on it, Lionel," Sam said as they crossed the street. "Our mutual friends believe that you might be a target. They think that HR is responsible, but we're not sure yet."

Lionel blinked at her, puzzled. "I stuck with them right until the end – "

"When you turned them in," Sam finished for him.

"Well yeah, but no one was around long enough to figure that out."

"Let's hope that's true. I just wanted to give you a heads up. Let us know if you notice anything else."

Lionel looked significantly at her. "I did notice something earlier that you'd be interested in."

"What?"

* * *

John watched her leave Detective Fusco with the rest of his pretzel. She headed across the street, but didn't go back towards the car. He stayed where he was a few seconds longer, making certain the detective made it back into the precinct.

"Finch," he said quietly. "What makes you think that the three numbers aren't connected somehow?"

"I never said they weren't, Mr. Reese," Finch replied. "It's too soon to tell. Where is Miss Watts?"

"She's not going back to the car. It looks like she's headed to a… post office." John moved quickly, sidestepping other foot traffic as he headed down the sidewalk. He kept a longer distance between them than he usually would. Sam was more familiar with him than most people.

She walked into the post office. John stayed at the side of the building, just at the edge of a window and watched her. She pulled a white, sealed envelope out of her purse and handed it to the clerk, who smiled blatantly at her as he placed the letter upon a stack of others just behind the counter.

As Sam turned, John backed away from the window. She stepped out onto the sidewalk again and continued in the same direction.

John ditched into the post office as the clerk's back was turned and swiped the envelope from behind the counter, all within seconds. He was outside again by the time the clerk thought he heard someone.

"Finch, run an address for me," he said, and read the mailing address off of the front of the envelope as he walked.

"Checking… it looks like a large house upstate."

"Sam's old house," John said as he sliced the envelope open. The letter didn't begin with a greeting, it just began.

_I'm sorry it's been a while since you heard from me last. I've been busy, but I'll get to that later. Thanks for the picture. He is getting so big! Give him a kiss for me._

_ Let's see, about me…Not much has changed since I last wrote. Again, I'm sorry that I have to be so vague, but you never know. _

_ R is fine and has not been blown up since…_

John stopped before he became too interested.

"She's in contact with Eva," he said, referring to Sam's best friend. He folded up the letter and stuffed it back in the envelope. Sam had severed ties with the living since she, herself, was legally dead. It was a high price, but she made the choice as he had explained to Carter earlier.

John headed in the direction Sam went, but didn't spot her. He checked around the corner, and the next. He slowed. "Finch, track Sam's phone, will you?" He turned around and stopped dead.

"You know what I find _very_ interesting?" Sam blinked up at him in the sunlight as he nearly crashed into her. She must have doubled back while he continued forward. "I find it interesting that a tall, well dressed man, such as yourself, can go without being noticed by so many people. It may just be because I've known you for a while now, but John, you are terribly conspicuous. Nice looking men in suits don't follow me or anyone else around every day. You should know that."

"I take it you don't need me to track her phone any longer?" Finch knew they were in trouble, and he was already retreating, John could sense it.

John rarely felt trapped, and he did for a tiny moment when Sam caught him. But he rallied and held up the opened envelope. "What's this?"

Sam snatched it from him. "You opened it?"

"… yeah."

"Did you read it?" She glanced up again with fear in her eyes.

"Only the first couple lines," John admitted.

Sam shoved the envelope in her purse. "Reese, you… honest bastard."

She called him by his last name. She never did that. That could only mean that she was unwaveringly pissed at him.

"How long have you known?"

"That you're writing letters to Eva? Only a few minutes," John said, hoping she'd feel a little better about it. "Have you met with her?"

"Of course not," Sam snapped. "I've been very careful. I never use the same post office or mailbox. I receive her letters in different ways almost every time. Even Lionel has helped me get a few."

"You trust Lionel with this?"

"He's not the buttinski that you are. The two of you, I should say." She stood up on her toes and shouted at John's ear, making sure Finch heard her.

"When did you start doing this?"

"As if it is any of your business, it was when Harold told me how Eva treated you the last time you saw her."

John remembered that visit well. He'd never seen a woman, a mother, so angry. Eva had yelled at him until he was out on the front porch, and punctuated the whole thing by slamming the door in his face. He never blamed her. It's not every day someone tells you that your best friend, someone you love, is dead.

"She was angry, I understood," John said shortly.

"I, on the other hand, wanted to kick her still very tiny ass. She had no right to treat you that way."

"Especially because you weren't dead."

Sam pointed her finger up at him. "Don't you start that. Don't try being cute with me. Wait –" Sam looked away from him for a moment. They'd been standing in the middle of the sidewalk, snapping at each other with no regard for anything else. Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him off to the side, under the overhang of an antique shop.

"If you only knew for a few minutes about the letters, why were you following me?"

"I don't think she could get angrier at you, Mr. Reese," Finch said, waving the white flag.

"It's not just me she's angry at," John said testily.

"What did he say?" Sam asked. "What's going on? Damn it, Reese – "

"Jarrod Brander and Casey Lovell are going on trial soon," John said in attempt to break the news gently.

"Five days to be exact. Yes, I know," Sam replied. "They're being released tomorrow night. Is that what this is about? Are you afraid I'll go ballistic and blow them away once they're out in the open?"

"How did you find out about their release?"

"Lionel told me. He was one of the people to find out as he was the first officer on the scene, not to mention the one who arrested them. He's going to be a witness for the prosecution. But you probably already knew that."

"I'll have to talk with Lionel," John said, looking away for a moment.

"Oho yes!" Sam said angrily, flapping her hands about. "How dare he tell me something that he thought I'd want to know? Too bad I don't know anyone else who would do that!"

"Their numbers came up, Sam," John said, his words landing like steel.

Sam lowered her voice, forcing calm. "And you thought that I was…?"

"We have to take every precaution. You know that," John said with some relief.

"I do know that," Sam stepped closer to him, her eyes malicious. "And if you or Harold _ever_ keep something like this from me again, I swear John – "

She called him John again. He was slowly regaining ground.

"I swear I'll think long and hard about something horrible to do to you."

"We had to make sure, Sam."

"Of what? That I wasn't planning to kill the two men who murdered my parents? They get some freedom of their own, hot meals, and nice beds, while my family is in the ground! And then what? They get some jail time - hot meals, beds, and my parents will _never_ have that again!"

"Sam, calm down," John said. She was gaining some unwanted attention from pedestrian traffic.

"_You_ calm down!" Sam said as hot tears began running down her cheeks. Her voice softened, and began to squeak. "Just because they were beat on in prison, and they admitted to killing them…and now here you are, someone who's more to me than just a friend, and you want to _protect_ them!"

"Sam," John rested his hand on her shoulder and pulled her closer.

She cried into his shirt, her body trembled with her anger and grief as he held her.

"Come on, Sam. Let's go," he guided her back down the street, towards the car.


	3. Scent

As Lionel wandered back into the station, Carter sat at her desk going through some files, the latest of which was Mr. Michael Emerson's. She smiled a little as she added the insurance and financial documents to the file.

"Good afternoon, Detective."

Carter glanced up and felt the dread overcome her as it always did when Special Agent Donnelly came into the station. It meant that he had something new regarding the case with the Man in the Suit.

"Agent Donnelly," Carter hoped she sounded pleasantly surprised. "What's going on?"

Donnelly's honest, puppy-dog face held a peaceful expression that meant nothing but bad news to Carter. She preferred him when he was stressed and haggard. "We have a new development of sorts regarding our man in the suit."

"Oh?" Carter lifted her eyebrows with interest. "I thought you were going to shut down the task force after the last fiasco."

"We came too close, Carter. If anything, that motivated us. I know last time was a little disappointing for everyone. But, I've decided to try a different angle," he said reassuringly.

"Yeah, the direct approach isn't always the best," Carter agreed with a tight smile.

Donnelly nodded. "Are you busy?"

* * *

Detective Carter followed Agent Donnelly into the FBI's task force headquarters that was set up some months ago – its goal, to catch the Man in the Suit alive. They had come close recently, but he'd managed to elude them once again.

"We've been sweeping surveillance camera footage for the past month," Donnelly explained as they entered the room. It was filled with people hunched over computers, talking in quiet voices, everyone looking busy. "The computer's been searching nonstop using facial recognition from the older footage we have. But I've never been one to trust a computer completely, so we've been going through footage manually as well."

"You guys don't sleep much, do you?"

Donnelly smiled a little and guided her to the front row of desks, where he sat down at one of the stations and pulled up some camera footage.

"One of our people found this, not the computer. We get all of the government feeds direct, which is why this little stroke of luck is only hours old rather than days or weeks." He pointed up at the large screen on the wall in front of them.

Carter watched as the video played back.

"This is a post office, close to your neighborhood I think," Donnelly said, positively giddy with excitement.

A woman with dark hair, wearing a skirt and blouse entered the post office. The camera was placed behind the counter, overhead. Carter watched her smile at the clerk as she handed him a stamped envelope. She left the post office right after.

In the corner of the screen, Carter could just make her out, walking past the window, continuing on down the street as a tall man in a gray suit entered the post office.

He kept his head down, so his face was difficult to see. But for Carter, it was obvious. This must have been not long after she left him in the park.

The clerk's back was turned towards him. He took the opportunity, lifted the envelope the woman had just dropped off from behind the counter, and left, moving in the same direction she had.

Carter bit her lip and looked down at Donnelly.

"Wait for it," he said, pointing at the screen.

People were coming and going on the sidewalk outside the post office. About a minute passed, and the very same woman walked by again, heading in the exact same direction. She walked quickly, as though she was trying to catch up to someone.

"Did you see her? She went around and came back again after he took whatever it was she dropped off."

Carter worked frantically, trying to think of some kind of reasoning behind this. Why did that fool have to go into a government building? Sam was one thing, but he should have been more careful!

"It wasn't a bill she was paying. It looked almost like a normal letter to me. But who writes those anymore?" Carter said, trying to downplay it.

"Whatever it was, he took it for some reason, and he continued following her. But," Donnelly sat up in the chair and wound back the footage. Carter watched Sam walk by the post office for the second time. "I think she outsmarted him. Almost like she knew."

"Well that's great," Carter shrugged. "Who is this woman?"

"She's not in the system," Donnelly said, sounding disappointed for the first time since she saw him that day. "But, we were able to use the same face recognition software just to see if she popped up on any cameras anywhere else, recently." As he spoke, Donnelly pulled up another video.

The footage was at night. It was Sam. She was running down the sidewalk next to a girl with blonde hair. The camera angle switched to the far side of the sidewalk. Now the girls were running towards it. It was definitely Sam. Carter cursed in her head.

As they turned a corner, Donnelly switched angles again to the next street. The girls were running away from the camera, down the dark street. Sam held out her hand and appeared to hand off something to someone who was barely in the frame. The figure was dark, but it looked like a tall man.

"Interesting, isn't it?" Donnelly said.

"I'd say so."

"We've found her on several different feeds dating back to the beginning of this year." Donnelly opened a file and screen shots of Sam began popping up on the large screen. All of them were of Sam's face at different angles, with different expressions, at different times of the day. "She doesn't seem to dodge the cameras as much, like our man does."

"Maybe because she has nothing to hide," Carter suggested weakly.

"Maybe," Donnelly said, humoring her. "Or, she may be the link that we need. I told you, Carter. I'm trying a different angle."

Carter shook her head. "But this doesn't make sense for him. Our guy is a loaner, always has been. Why would he suddenly be linked to this random woman?"

"I have found while working in this job, detective, that most of the things we see are not random," Donnelly said wisely.

Carter reached for her phone, acting like she received a message, and opened a new text message box.

"We've done a little more digging, and this woman matches the ID of a Samantha Watts," Donnelly continued.

_Feds onto Sam. Her to get to you. Where is she?_ Carter sent the text and deleted the log.

"She's single, lives alone in the city. We haven't been able to get a solid address on her yet. Her mailing address is listed as a PO Box… are you listening, Carter?"

Carter glanced up. "Yeah, sorry, I just got some news about a case I started this morning."

"Good news?"

"I'm not sure yet," Carter gestured to the large screen now riddled with images of Sam. "So what's your next move?" Her phone beeped, and she glanced a the new message.

_Off of the radar. What have they got on her?_

"We wait," Donnelly said, leaning back in his chair. "The next time Samantha Watts shows up anywhere, we'll be ready to see where she leads us."

* * *

Detective Carter waited impatiently at the address that was texted to her after she didn't respond immediately to the last message. With Donnelly's bugged, brown eyes on her, Carter had to be careful. John, however, was aware of that, hence the address and the meeting time he'd arranged for them instead.

Light jazz music played over a speaker system above her head. The air was filled with different aromas, spirits being the most prominent. This late at night, most places had slowed their stride almost to a complete stop. There were still some people left around, though. But the atmosphere drooped with the lateness of the hour.

Carter sat at a table in the corner, facing the door and the rest of the room. John would have to be hanging from the ceiling to sneak up on her this time.

"Good to see you again so soon, Detective."

Carter jumped as John moved around and sat opposite her at the table with that damned smirk on his face.

"Where the hell did you come from?" She demanded.

John looked innocently at her. "The back," he nodded over to the door behind the bar.

"You of all people should already understand why I don't like being snuck up on."

"Sorry. What's the story about our girl?"

"Oh, she's _ours _now, is she?"

John didn't answer, his expression remained passive.

Carter took a breath as her heart rate slowed to normal. "That same FBI taskforce that had you running like a trapped rat a little while back is still working to find you. The director, Agent Donnelly, is convinced that Sam is linked to you."

"Really?" John said, looking mildly interested.

"They have surveillance footage of her all over the city," Carter lowered her voice and leaned forward a little. "Your little stunt in the post office today clinched it."

"Government facilities are always so sensitive," John mused. "I only took the one envelope."

"What is going on John? The truth. All of it. Now."

John surveyed her for a moment. "Okay." He leaned forward as well and barely spoke above a whisper. "I suppose you've already heard that the two men responsible for killing Sam's parents are being released tomorrow. They will be out of prison, held in a secure location, for the duration of the trial."

"Who pulled that off?"

"We're working on that."

"You thought Sam might be involved," Carter guessed. She tilted her head a little, giving him a look that dared him to lie to her.

"Wouldn't you try to take a shot at the men who murdered your family if you had the chance?"

Carter didn't have to answer. They both knew the answers they'd give to that question. "That's why you were following her today. So is that the deal? You're trying to save these guys from Sam?"

"It isn't Sam. Like I said, we're working on it."

"Is there anything else I should know?"

"You could do me a favor," John said as he stood.

"Are you kidding?"

"Actually, two favors," John smiled. "See what you can find out about what's left over from HR. And… keep an eye on Lionel for me."

"Fusco? What's he got to do with anything?"

"Usually? Nothing," John said. "This time, I'm not so sure."

"So you're working two cases at once?" Carter shook her head. "You know just because she isn't planning anything doesn't mean that she might not try something if she gets the chance," Carter said, also getting to her feet. "I know I'd be looking for a loophole if I were in her shoes."

"Me too," John agreed. "That would make it three cases now," he said as he walked with the detective out of the bar.


	4. Linked

The next day, Sam didn't hear a peep from John, Harold, or even Lionel. She wasn't sure if she should be concerned or not. After attempting to call Harold, then John, and receiving no answer from either of them, Sam left her apartment. If they needed her, they'd let her know.

She hoped nothing had happened overnight. John had dropped her off at her place after her emotional explosion on the sidewalk the day before. She hadn't seen or heard from him since.

Trying her best not to worry, Sam walked the few blocks down from her apartment to a shopping mall. It was another beautiful summer day, and rather than go into the mall right away, she wandered around the area. She bought some iced tea, and eventually went back to the mall. She almost regretted going inside after spending what seemed like such a short time in the sunlight. But, she could remedy that after she got a new pair of sunglasses. Her last pair was tragically broken, having been smashed in her pocket whilst she was diving away from an explosion… or gunfire, or something. Typical.

Sam entered the mall. It was late in the morning, so the place wasn't very busy. Dull elevator music played over the loud speakers as she walked through, passing boutiques and kiosks.

Bored sales people tried pouncing on her with their latest fragrances, cell phone gadgets, and skin care products. The trick was not to make eye contact. Sam bypassed them on her way to a department store, which she never entered.

A firm hold simultaneously came around her waist and gripped her arm, pulling her away from the department store entrance and into the rest of the mall.

"Don't clench, Sam," John said. "Act like you were expecting me. And give me your phone."

"I only clenched because you scared me," she said. "What's going on?

"You have a tail."

"I have a tail that isn't you?" Sam tried to relax and smiled up at John. His grip around her loosened and they walked casually together like a normal couple. She pulled her phone out of her purse and handed it to him.

He took it in both of his hands and bent it until they heard a sharp snap.

"That's why no one answered my calls earlier?"

"The FBI has displayed an unexpected act of intelligence by linking you to me. Instead of trying to get to me directly, they thought you might be a safer bet. I said stop clenching."

"I'm not!"

"You're one solid knot, Sam," John raised his arm to her shoulders so she could lean into him a little.

"Call me crazy, but aren't you confirming their suspicions about me by showing up here?"

"Your tail is bored. He's been losing interest and his focus for the past hour. We can lose him." John quickly guided them down an escalator onto the lower level of the mall. He kept his face forward, but his eyes moved continuously, this way and that.

"How long have you been tailing my tail?"

John didn't answer. "I hate malls," he muttered. "Closed in. And the security is crap, but there's so much of it."

"Yeah, well, you can never have too much crappy security," Sam tried to joke, if only to make herself feel better. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere out of sight, for now."

He stopped them outside a photo booth, put some money in, and ducked inside. Sam stood outside of the booth, staring at the closed curtain. "This is your plan?"

"We need him to start looking for you. Do you see him?" John said.

Sam casually gazed around until she saw a man in a brown coat walking by himself. It was summer, why was he wearing a coat? He dodged a woman who leaped out at him from Victoria's Secret, armed with the latest fragrance, just as he stepped off the escalator.

"Bald? Long coat? Looks tired?" Sam said into the booth.

A hand reached out from behind the curtain, grabbed onto her and yanked her into the photo booth. She landed on top of John as the camera took the first photo. Sam jerked away and sat next to him on the narrow bench.

The second flash definitely caught Sam's surprise as she looked at John for the first time since she entered the mall.

John, shockingly, was not wearing a suit. Hell must be freezing over, Sam thought. He was in dark wash jeans, a t-shirt, a black leather jacket, and heavy black boots.

"That's a different look for you, isn't it?"

"They're looking for a man in a suit," John said simply, blinking in surprise at the next camera flash.

Sam grinned as she looked him over again.

"What is it?"

"I had a grandpa who did that too."

"Did what, Sam?" John rested his head against the wall as the next picture was taken.

Sam pointed at his shirt. "You've tucked in your t-shirt. You can never be truly casual, can you? Grandpa always did that too. One time, he kept a Hawaiian shirt tucked into a pair of swimming trunks all day."

The camera flashed again as John rolled his eyes over to her. "The FBI is tracking you, Sam."

"How can they do that? I'm dead," Sam raised her arms helplessly in front of her as another flash blinded them for a second.

"Samantha Watts is very much alive, though," John smiled with sarcastic irritation.

"Wow. Now the FBI has _my_ alias. That is a sentence I never thought I'd say. Finch must have been thorough."

"He usually is," John agreed.

"So what do we do? You need my help with Fusco and those bastards – "

"Brander and Lovell – "

"Who don't deserve to be called by their actual names anymore," Sam added testily.

The camera wasn't taking any more pictures. John got up and peered out from behind the curtain. He ducked back in.

"He's looking for you now. He didn't see us."

Sam moved further into the booth as John sat down on the side closest to the curtain this time. He reached outside of the booth for a few seconds and came back with the strip of pictures in his hands. The camera flashed again as he handed them to Sam.

Sam blinked. "So are we going to stay in here until this thing runs out of film?" She looked at the set of pictures of her and John and let out a sharp laugh. "I have to show these to Harold."

"Carter is helping me with Fusco," John continued. "I can handle Brander and Lovell. You need to lay low for a while, Sam."

"You are _joking_!" Sam said, ignoring the flash this time. "I am right there with you when those two are released tonight."

"They are _following_ you."

"So? They've followed you all over the place and have come up with nothing so far. You're not taking this away from me – "

"That's not what I'm trying to do."

_Flash_.

"I'm not scared of them, John. What can they do to me? I've got no record, I've done nothing wrong – "

"You know about us, Sam. You know about the machine, Carter, Lionel – "

"You think I'd give everything up like that?"

_Flash._

"I'm trying to fix it so you'd never have to make that choice."

Sam thought for a moment. She made the mistake of facing forward as the camera flashed again right into her eyes.

John reached around outside the booth, and came back with another strip of photos, and the camera started up again.

"You would never lay low, John," Sam said seriously. Purple spots danced in front of her eyes, blocking out some of John's face when she looked at him. "You'd still do what you wanted to do. I want to help. I can't just be cooped up somewhere."

John considered her, blinking rapidly in response to the next photo being taken. "Fusco's ex wife is picking up his son, Lee, for the weekend. Finch has been keeping an eye on him just in case. You can go with Finch to watch out for Lee. But I want you to stay in the background as much as possible."

_Flash_

"You got it," Sam agreed with a nod of her head.

"And you should be with one of us at all times," he added.

"Check. And all of this is after the trip to the prison tonight, right?"

_Flash_

* * *

Sam made sure to grab all of the photos out of the booth before they left. Once they made sure her tail was no longer present, they left the mall.

She followed John into a parking garage connected to the shopping mall, and up to a spot in which stood an expensive looking, black motorcycle. John zipped up his jacket, pulled on a pair of gloves, and picked up a black satin helmet from the seat of the bike.

"Hah! No," Sam said.

"No?"

"John, I am always impressed at your... bad assery, but this?" Sam waved her hand in the air at the motorcycle, "I think not."

"You're not afraid of the FBI tailing you, but you're afraid of a little bike with a motor on it?"

"I dated a guy once who loved motorcycles, but didn't have one of his own. The day he bought one, he left me standing in a parking lot as he took the first spin on it by himself. The idea was that he'd come back for me and we'd go for a ride. This whole time, I'm thinking that he already knows what he's doing," Sam's voice raised in pitch, as she continued the story. Her eyes never left the bike. "So I waited, and waited. It was probably about fifteen minutes before I saw the first emergency vehicle pass with the sirens going..." Her voice faded.

"The problem with relating your story to this situation is that I knowhow to ride one of these." John stepped around the bike and handed her a silver helmet. "That agent lost you in there, which means all of his friends will be notified, and every single exit to this place will be monitored. They'll be waiting for you to walk out of here."

Sam sighed, and watched John anxiously as he pulled his helmet on and straddled the bike. She stifled the automatic thoughts that popped into her mind as she pulled the helmet over her hair that was pulled back, and the rest of her head. It pinched her ears, and felt heavy and claustrophobic. But the feeling faded after she stood there for a minute.

John started the engine as Sam swung her leg over the back of the bike. She slid up against John's back and wrapped her arms around him as far as they would go. John released the handlebars and grabbed at Sam's hands. He forced them away from him, and repositioned them so they rested in front of him, her arms wrapped around him only once.

Sam clasped her hands together as the bike tilted. She put her feet up as he backed the bike out of the spot, and screamed one long, resounding note as they rode out of the parking garage.

* * *

Her purse, which still contained her gun, hit the floor with a heavy thud. Sam dropped it next to the easy chair where she sat down, kicked off her shoes, and stretched out her legs, allowing the blood flow back into them. They rode on that contraption for a half hour at least before finally coming back to her studio apartment. John was very thorough when it came to confusing the FBI.

John unzipped his jacket and set his helmet on the table next to the couch. He sat down and observed Sam for a moment as she stretched out and relaxed.

"Sam."

"Hm?" Sam leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes.

"You have to stay here until we can throw them off of your scent," he spoke plainly.

Sam opened her eyes. "I thought we already discussed this. I'll go with you and Lionel tonight, and tomorrow I'm with Finch, out of harms way, right?"

John gave her one of those smiles that indicated that he was amused, but he wasn't happy about it. "_We_ never discussed tonight. And it's not a good idea. You know why."

Sam returned his suspicious gaze with a glare of her own as she sat up in the chair. "I'm going to be there, John, with or without you," her voice was low and steady.

"For someone who isn't planning to kill them, you sure want to see them badly."

Sam didn't have a response. Why _did_ she want to be there as badly as she did? They didn't need her to be there, that was certain. Did she want to see their faces? Perhaps she wanted them to see her? But she'd never met them. She'd never even glimpsed the two men who were the last people to see her parents alive. Was it curiosity? Did she need to match a face with the killer?

Questions and violence bounced around her head as she stood up and moved to the window. Looking down on the sunlit street below, normal people were walking back and forth, going about their normal business. Sam was grateful to have John, Harold, and even Lionel, but sometimes she wondered what life would be like if…

"I just want to see them."

"That's easy," John's spoke from his position on the couch. "I can get you a couple of mug shots."

She heard him move off of the couch, and the clunk of his thick boots on the floor as he approached her from behind. "I know exactly what it's like," he said quietly. "You want to see them. Memorize their faces, their habits, even the way they stand. Then you'll go over every detail until it's all you think about. The memory of the person you loved soon becomes just one thing, the time when they were taken away from you. And, instead of thinking of the one you loved, you think more of the one responsible for taking them away."

Sam wiped a tear off her cheek and folded her arms across her chest as though she was protecting herself.

"I have to see them, John," she said. "I won't get in the way, I promise."

"That is not what concerns me."

Sam then turned to face him. "Why are you trying to stop me, when you say you know how I feel?" She said. "That woman you loved, what happened to her? You said you weren't able to save her. Did someone kill her?"

John took a step back from her, his jaw tight and his eyes hard.

"You weren't able to save her, but whoever was responsible…" Sam smiled knowingly at him. Judging from his stance and his expression, she could almost see the invisible line she was beginning to cross. "You dealt with them, didn't you? I know that you'd never be able to let something like that lie. Leave something like that to the authorities?" Sam scoffed, waving her hand at him. "Not you. You'd pull a full Edmond Dantes on them and you know it!"

John looked at her curiously at the random reference. He gently placed his hands on her shoulders. "You're right, Sam."

"What did you do?"

"That's why I'm trying to stop you before you would be tempted to try anything," he continued, ignoring her question.

"I am going, John," Sam said firmly.

"Fine," John said. He stood in front of her, just staring for a moment. Sam knew he was thinking, thinking hard. But of what, she couldn't figure. "I want you to remember that I did ask nicely first."

John reached behind her and Sam felt a pull on her hair as he removed the clip she had in it. Her hair fell loosely around her shoulders. "It looks like we have some time to kill."

"What?" Sam said in a small voice, unsure if she should be just afraid, or run from the room.

John's eyes glinted at her in a very strange way. His expression relaxed as he took her face in both hands and kissed her mouth. Sam inhaled sharply from the shock of it and backed away.

"John! What the hell?" She said, utterly bewildered.

"Am I not allowed to instigate anything with you?" He smiled. It was mesmerizing.

"When you're sober? When we're both sober?" Sam asked, panicking.

"Makes it easier to remember that way." He moved forward and kissed her again. Sam's head veritably exploded with an overload of rejoicing and thoughts of what should happen next.

She fought it and pulled away again. She backed into the wall and slid along it. "Why the sudden change, John?" she asked desperately, running into the couch.

"It's not as sudden as you think, Sam."

"I'm not sure if it's a good idea, though," she said lamely.

John followed her slowly, allowing her space to move away from him as they spoke. "Really? I assumed you've had the idea for a while now."

Sam's brain frantically tried to come up with a plausible denial for the accusation. "Well, it's not just me, is it?"

John paused for a moment as Sam stumbled against a standing lamp. She steadied it, and he was there again, in front of her. He still didn't answer her. Instead, he brushed her hair away from her face, combing his fingers through it, and kissed her again.

Sam's feelings and instincts were winning over her logic and common sense. This was a bad idea. She knew it. It would be weird from here on out if she let this happen. But, would it be weird, really? Yes! It would be so much weird! But would it?

The circular debate shot back and forth in Sam's overloaded brain as she returned John's kiss and slipped her hands under his jacket. He released her as she pushed the jacket off of his shoulders. It dropped to the floor as he held her again.

Sam's hands moved to his waist, to his back, and found the gun tucked into his jeans. She smiled. No, it wouldn't be weird. It would almost be _beneficial,_ because another barrier between them would have fallen, and she'd be closer to him than she ever thought possible… right? John's gun thudded onto the floor.

John kept coming until she backed into something solid. He bent her back and Sam landed on the soft blankets of her bed. Her hands ran through his hair as he kissed her neck and throat. She moved down to his shirt and pulled at it until it was freed from his jeans.

His hands slid underneath her, to her back, holding her to him as she lifted his shirt. His warmth and scent were intoxicating. She found his lips again, always wanting more, and closed her eyes as he caressed up and down her arms, and lifted her hands over her head.

Something clicked and Sam opened her eyes to see John's face above her. His hair was disheveled and his face flushed. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"What are you talking about?" she said sweetly, moving her lips to his again.

John got up, leaving her alone on the bed. Puzzled, Sam moved to get up, but her hands were caught.

She looked up. Her wrists trapped in a pair of handcuffs, which were looped around a cutout in the wooden headboard, which was bolted to the bed frame. Sam jerked at her hands, but the cuffs were tight. She twisted around until she was able to sit up against the headboard.

"John."

She watched him grab his jacket from the floor, and tuck his shirt back in. He walked back over to the bed, reaching in his pocket.

"Here's your new phone," he said, setting it on the bedside table.

"John," Sam said again, her high was crashing down to the basement as she slowly realized what was happening.

John put on his jacket and looked at her with some regret. "There's a book there, and I put the garbage can right next to the bed. Oh – "

He walked across the room and into the bathroom. When he returned, he was carrying a roll of toilet paper and set it next to the phone on the bedside table.

"You son of a bitch," Sam said when he was closer. She wriggled and jerked her hands in the cuffs. "I can't believe you just – John! Let me out of these right now!"

He was at the door and turned around once more. "I'll check in on you later."

"Reese, you get back here _right now _and let me go!" She said, hot, boiling rage filling her entire frame.

"I did ask you first, remember?"

John walked out the door. She heard it shut and lock.

"_Reese!"_


	5. Enemies

Outside of the city, the sun was going down, reflecting deep orange light off of the gravel road that stopped at the high, metal fence. John opened the back door to the unmarked car and slid into the back seat, surprising the vehicles two occupants sitting in the front.

Lionel turned and glanced behind him as Carter looked in the rearview mirror.

"A little twitchy, aren't we, Lionel?" John asked.

"Sam's not with you?"

"I'm sure she'll be flattered that you missed her."

Lionel rolled his eyes.

"She'll still be here," Carter said with certainty.

"No, she won't," John said.

Carter met his eyes in the rearview mirror, as if she'd be able to tell whether or not he was lying. "Did you tie her up and leave her somewhere?"

"I didn't tie her up," John said honestly.

"Is she conscious?"

"Sam is fine, detective. Are we going to focus on the reason we're here?"

"It's pretty straight forward," Lionel said. "I don't get what all the fuss is about. We take 'em, we drop 'em off. They'll be under twenty four hour watch in a safe house."

John smiled. "Do you know who the judge was that let this happen?"

"Judge Thurston," Carter replied. "Why?"

"Come now, detectives, don't you find it interesting that two men, former members of Elias' regime, are being let out in the open before their trial, which shouldn't even be happening because of their guilty plea?"

"They switched that," Lionel said with a shrug.

"They changed their plea?" Carter said with surprise.

"Not guilty."

"When did that happen?"

"I don't know. I just heard about it when I heard they were being let out."

"This doesn't feel right," Carter said, squirming a little in her seat.

"You didn't tell Sam, did you?" John asked Lionel with sharpness in his voice.

"She didn't ask," Lionel said guiltily.

"The two men who killed your parents are pleading not guilty, and are being treated like innocent civilians during their trial. I think we can assume that will be rigged too," Carter said, thinking out loud. "I don't know about her, but I'd be mad as hell."

John sat quietly for a moment, puzzling over the odd circumstances that were unfolding. Why would Brander and Lovell change their plea suddenly? They must have found a way out. Carter was right. If they didn't get out now, the trial would probably be rigged, prosecution, defense, judge, and even jury if necessary, and they'd get off on a not guilty verdict.

Even Sam wouldn't go to so much trouble to get these men out in the open. John thought further and could only come up with one person who would make such an air tight plan.

"Elias is behind this," he said quietly.

"How do you know?" Carter asked, suddenly sitting up straighter.

"I don't. But that's what I think. Elias wants these men for some reason, either to kill them, or for things they might know about him."

"Or for completely different reason entirely," Carter finished for him.

The front gate of the prison opened automatically as the sun was dying. Lionel got out of the car as John watched with Carter. Two men wandered out onto the gravel road.

Lionel greeted them, they nodded and began walking with him.

A flicker in the corner of his eye caught John's attention. He looked to the side, of the car. The prison stood up next to a large forest. A narrow clearing was the only thing that separated the two. John squinted at the trees, his sharp eyes catching every detail, every shadow. One of the shadows moved fast.

"They're going to take them now!" he said, getting out of the car and drawing his weapon.

Carter followed suit as Lionel and the two prisoners turned at a shout that came behind them. Weapons fired, and the three men hit the ground. Carter and John returned fire at the men emerging from the trees. They were dressed in black, wearing balaclavas over their faces.

A couple of them went down as John moved closer. Carter fired off more rounds, and John engaged the closest one. He was trained, that was evident from the first hit. But he was not as well trained as John. A hard kick to the back of his leg crippled him, and he collapsed to the ground.

John bore down on him as Carter and Lionel pushed the rest back into the trees.

Pinning the man to the ground with his knee on his chest, John ripped the balaclava off of his face. "Someone paying you overtime for this job?" he asked.

He didn't recognize him, and the man didn't answer.

Carter and Lionel herded the two prisoners into the car. Once they were secure, Carter pulled the car up next to John and the mystery man he'd brought down.

"Who are you working for?" John asked in a dangerous voice.

Lionel approached cautiously as Carter got out of the car. They bent over the man and John, and Lionel swore loudly.

"You!" The first word out of the man's mouth was at Lionel. He struggled under John's hold, but wasn't able to break free.

"Lionel," John said kindly. "Do you know this man?" He pressed down a little harder with his knee until they heard a tiny crack.

"That's Sholls," Lionel said. "He was part of HR."

"A cop," Carter spat.

"Was a cop," Lionel corrected.

"Damned traitor!" Sholls shouted painfully. "We're still gonna make you pay, Fusco!"

"He seems a little angry with you, Lionel," John said airily.

Carter took out her radio and called for backup. They had a third prisoner to transport.

* * *

"How did everything go?" Finch asked politely over the phone.

John pulled onto the freeway towards the city. Lights and cars rushed by him. He weaved his way in between them as he spoke and drove the motorcycle at the same time. Finch would not have approved.

"We were ambushed," John said. "It was the dregs from HR."

"Is Miss Watts all right?"

"Everyone seems to be so concerned about Sam," John said with irritation. "She wasn't there."

"Oh? I know she wanted to be."

"Let's just say that I made sure she wasn't." The tone of John's voice indicated very clearly that the subject was closed with a steel lock and cement poured over it.

"Probably a wise choice," Finch agreed. "What happened?"

"They showed up out of nowhere, firing at us. Finch, I think they wanted all three of them. Brander, Lovell, _and_ Fusco."

"To kill them?"

"Eventually. But I think they were there to take them."

"It seems you have averted the crime, Mr. Reese," Finch said supportively.

"It's not over yet, Finch." John said with certainty.

"Where are you now?"

"Carter and Lionel are taking Brander and Lovell to the safe house. I'm on my way to Sam's place."

"I've been trying to contact her, but she's not answering."

"She probably can't reach her phone."

* * *

John hesitated for a moment outside the door to Sam's apartment. He had handled, without blinking, terrorists, kidnappers, mobsters, gangsters, drug dealers, and countless others that were dancing around at the top of one most wanted list or another. Yet, standing there, preparing to confront the single, angry woman on the other side of that door made him a little nervous.

He opened the door as softly as possible, and braced himself for the oncoming storm. But it never came. John looked across the room to Sam's bed that stood against the wall. She was curled up against the headboard, asleep. Her hands dangled just above her at a strange angle. They looked a little pale.

John strode over, keeping his footsteps as quiet as he could in those boots, and gently lowered himself onto the mattress next to Sam. He unlocked the cuffs and let Sam's hands drop. One of them slid down, hitting her square in the face.

She frowned in her sleep, and her body shifted. John took one of her hands and began massaging the blood back into the palms and fingers as Sam blinked up at him. Her frown deepened when she realized what she was looking at. Then her eyes widened and she sat up, tearing her hands away from John.

He calmly watched her scurry across the room and into the bathroom, slamming the door.

John peered over the side of the bed. The garbage can was empty. It had been about five or six hours since he left her, maybe longer.

A couple minutes passed. Water started running and the door to the bathroom opened. Sam stepped out and stayed where she was, staring at him from across the room. She folded her arms defensively in front of her and waited.

"Where's your purse?" John asked.

"By the chair," Sam pointed. Her voice was level, bereft of any emotion that he could decipher.

John got off the bed and moved to the chair. He picked up her purse, took out her gun and slipped the magazine out of it, putting it in his pocket. The now empty weapon was replaced neatly in her purse.

"Fine," Sam said. "I have some knives in the kitchen. Are you going to take those too?"

"Are you planning on using them?"

"I was thinking about it."

"We both know that's not exactly your style," John said, smiling a little.

"That's true," Sam nodded. "I just thought beating on you with a bat would be much more satisfying."

John nodded in agreement and understanding.

Sam stepped forward. He thought about moving back, but decided to hold his ground instead. She couldn't see how hesitant he was. It was best to let her get whatever it was out of her system.

"But, we both know that I'd never be able to get a single hit off of you," Sam said conversationally as she moved towards him. Her lips were turned up a little, but her eyes betrayed her anger, simmering just below the surface.

"You can if you want, Sam," he said, shrugging.

"You'll let me hit you?"

"If it'll make you feel better." John clasped his hands behind his back and waited. He looked down at her as she reached him, that eerie smile on her lips.

"Okay."

Sam stepped up on the chair they were next too. She stood taller than John, balled up her fist and punched him square in the jaw. Surprisingly, John was knocked off balance more than he expected to be.

Sam screamed in pain, shaking her hand as she stepped back onto the floor.

"Work through the pain, Sam. You have to work through it if you want to keep fighting," John said, regaining his balance.

Sam tried again, this time at John's stomach. The blow knocked the wind out of him. It was impressive, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. He doubled over for a moment and Sam put her arm around his neck, flinging her body on his back, putting him into a choke hold.

John stood up and nearly toppled backwards with Sam's weight on his back. Her legs were wrapped around his middle as she held herself on him.

"You _seduced_ me, you ass! Did they teach you that stuff in the CIA too? Or is that just a natural talent?" Sam's voice was in his ear and she pulled her arm tighter around his throat.

"See, while this may seem effective, it isn't efficient," John said to her, as he tried to look back at her. "Your arms and legs are occupied, while both of my arms are free."

John walked over to the bed with Sam clinging to him, forced her arm away from his throat, and flung her over his back and onto the bed. It was so fast that Sam bounced onto the mattress. She scrambled up onto her knees, pushing her hair out of her face, her chest heaving with the effort.

"You manipulated me," Sam accused. Her anger was still hot, but she didn't make a move towards him.

"It was the only way to keep you from doing something you'd regret."

"That was not your choice to make!" she shouted. "I am a grown woman, John."

"I know," he said, looking her up and down very quickly.

"How can I ever trust you again?"

John leaned forward, his face close enough to hers that she stopped shouting for the moment. "What is it, really, Sam? Are you angry that I denied you something? Or that I simply locked you up?"

Sam's cheeks flushed. He'd hit the nail on the head. Her lips trembled furiously for something to say, and John found himself remembering how they felt. He blinked and took a step back. "I'm sorry, Sam. But it was better that you were here. You were safe."

"I should have gone," Sam mumbled, sitting down on the mattress, leaning against the headboard.

"You wanted to be shot at?"

That did it. Sam's anger fled and worry took its place. She looked up at him as he sat down next to her, feeling that it was safe to be in close proximity again.

"There were some guys left over from HR there. They went after Brander, Lovell and Lionel."

"Is Lionel all right?" Sam said with concern. John understood why she didn't ask about the other two.

"Everyone is fine. But now we know it's HR."

She looked away from him as she thought. "Why would HR be after those two?"

"That's a good question. They used to work for Elias after all."

John watched in mild amusement as Sam worked through the clues. She was usually quick. It never took her long to catch up to his conclusions.

"Do you think Elias would take on the guys who were left from HR? Ex cops?"

"He takes on anyone who is willing," John confirmed.

Sam sighed with fatigue, resting her head back. "HR, Elias, _and_ the FBI," she muttered. "What are we going to do?"

"We caught one of those guys tonight. Carter is questioning him as we speak."

"You didn't want to wait over there?"

"Would you prefer to still be in those handcuffs?" John risked a smile. "I really am sorry, Sam."

Sam rolled her eyes. "I mean – you – you weaponized sex and used it against me. That is so low, John. That is the lowest." Sam couldn't help herself and laughed. "You know, I just came up with scenario after scenario of awful things I wanted to do to you, but none of them seemed horrific enough… until just before I went to sleep."

"And?"

"I would lock you in a room with a bunch of clowns. And the only weapon you have is a paddle ball. It sounds like a low rated horror movie. Simple, yet elegant."

John remembered telling Sam a while ago that he had an aversion to clowns, and involuntarily shuddered at the thought. "That wouldn't be funny."

"Exactly. So if you ever think of doing anything like that to me again, John Reese - "

"You'll be ready."

Sam studied him for a moment, and sighed. "I'm glad you guys are okay," she said. "And I'm sorry I punched you." She put her fingers to his chin and moved his head to get a look. "It's still red."

"By the way, I should warn you, I think Lionel's developing a little crush on you," John said, barely able to hold in a laugh.

Sam appeared to think on it seriously for a moment. "Lionel's funny." John looked sharply at her and she shrugged. "What?"


	6. Pursuit

Sam dug around in the back pack that sat by her feet in the front seat of the car. She pulled out a Ziploc bag, opened it, and offered it to Finch, who sat in the driver's seat.

"Chocolate covered peanut?"

Finch eyed at the snack with suspicion, then looked at Sam. "Mr. Reese doesn't approve of food during a stake out."

Sam glanced around the car, in the back seat, and back to Finch. "I don't see him around, do you?"

Finch's mouth twitched, and his eyes brightened a little as he reached into the bag and partook of the peanuts.

"Besides, I could bring food to a thousand stake outs and it wouldn't even cover half of what I owe him for what he did yesterday," Sam muttered.

"And what was that?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Finch shrugged and popped another peanut into his mouth.

"You'd think that she'd be here by now," Sam said as she munched.

"Detective Fusco said that she's usually late."

Sam stretched in her seat and unzipped the hooded jacket she wore. Knowing that she was going to be on a stake out, she had dressed comfortably – sneakers, stretchy yoga pants, a t-shirt and jacket. It was going to be difficult not to fall asleep in such comfort.

Finch's phone rang. He hooked it up through the car speakers and set the phone on the center console.

"Are you as riveted as I am?" John's voice came into the car and Sam nearly spilled the peanuts.

"What do you mean?" Finch asked.

"I'm with Lionel on his shift at the safe house. I may end up killing him myself."

"You called us because you're bored? How flattering," Sam said, her mouth partially full. "Besides, it's no amusement park over here either. His ex hasn't even shown up yet to pick up Lee."

"Are you sure he's still in the house?"

"Yes," Finch said.

"How are you sure?" John's irritation with his boredom showed in his voice.

"He's been waving to us through the front window every once in a while," Sam explained. "Lionel told him we'd be here, and that we'd follow him to his mother's house. It's better that way anyway, so he can let me in to use the bathroom."

Sam looked up, saw the curtains part in the window of the house they were parked in front of and saw Lee nod and wave his hand at them. Sam waved back.

"See? We just saw him."

"Sounds exciting," John said lamely.

Sam grinned at Finch as she took another handful of peanuts. She bent down and dug in the bag again, pulling out two bottles of water. She handed one to Finch, whose paranoia seemed to mount.

"Come on, he's just on the phone, Harold," Sam said under her breath. Finch took the bottle.

"Sam?"

"Yes, John?"

"Did you bring food to a stake out?"

Sam and Finch froze, the water bottle was halfway to Finch's lips and Sam held the bag of chocolate covered peanuts swinging in front of her face. "No, John."

"I can hear the wrappers."

"Now that's just a flat out lie. There are no wrappers," Sam said proudly. "I put everything in sandwich bags!" She crunched the bag loudly right over the phone receiver. "You were just guessing."

"I'd rather be in their stake out," Lionel's voice came over the speakers. "He won't let us have food here either."

"You're welcome to leave your post officer, and join them," John said testily.

Sam and Finch exchanged smiles, and Finch reached for more peanuts.

"Are you listening to this?" Lionel asked. "It's a downright picnic over here."

"It's still morning. There's plenty of time for it to turn into a crime scene," John warned.

"Harold, I really think you should market this. People would pay for this as their entertainment," Sam pointed to the phone and took a gulp of water. "They almost sound like an old, married couple."

"Hey, save the threats, okay," Lionel bristled a little.

"It is difficult to make this up," Finch agreed.

"Hey guys, maybe we could play a game to pass the time," Sam suggested over the bickering. "I spy with my little eye –"

"Goodbye, Sam," John said, and the call ended just as Sam burst out laughing.

"Poor Lionel," Sam said sympathetically. "But John is just so easy to mess with."

"Most people don't venture that far with Mr. Reese. I include myself in that category as well," Finch said.

"We won't suffer any repercussions, Harold, if that's what you're afraid of. He knows he deserves it." Sam bent down to search through the bag again when Finch tapped her on her back.

"Sam."

Sam looked up, over the dashboard. A car passed them and slowed. It backed up, pulling close to the curb right in front of them. Sam went for the bag again and pulled out her gun. She took off the safety and waited.

"Calling them back," Harold said, tapping the phone.

A horn honked as John answered the phone. "I'm not playing any games, Sam."

"Lionel, what kind of car does your ex drive?"

"It's an old, blue Escalade, I think. Why?"

Finch and Sam released a breath simultaneously. The car matched his description.

"It just pulled up in front of your house."

Sam watched the house as the front curtains parted. Lee saw the car, and the curtains dropped back into place. A moment later, Lee came out the front door wearing a back pack, locked the door, and walked down the steps. He was young; twelve, maybe thirteen.

Lee caught Sam's eye on his way down the steps and nodded. She nodded back.

"He's a sweet kid, Lionel," Sam said.

"Yeah, thanks."

Lee slipped off his back pack and opened the back door of the Escalade to toss it inside. But he looked up and stopped.

"Wait," Finch said.

"What is it?" John's voice came back over the speakers.

Sam's hand was on the door handle as Lee paused. He backed away, speaking to whoever was inside the car.

"Something's wrong," Sam said, opening the door.

Before she stepped out, a pair of hands reached out from the back seat and grabbed onto Lee, forcing him inside the car. Lee shouted and dropped his backpack. Sam was out on the sidewalk as the car pulled away.

"What's going on?" Lionel shouted over the phone.

"They took him," Sam said, falling back into the car. "Go! Harold, drive!"

Finch, looking panicky, started the engine and pulled into the street after the Escalade.

"I couldn't shoot at them. I didn't want to hit Lee," Sam said, kicking herself. "Keep on them, Harold. Don't worry, Lionel. We'll get him back."

Finch turned a corner, ending up a couple of cars behind the Escalade, which was gaining speed.

"Sam."

"John, don't you dare start – "

"Listen," he said sharply. "There's extra firepower in the trunk. Lower the back seat and you can get to it. Where are they headed, Finch?"

Sam climbed into the back seat as Finch, his hands glued to the wheel, jerked the car this way and that. "I can't tell as of yet. But if it were me, I'd try for a more open road."

"Which freeway?"

"The closest one is eighty seven," Sam said as she lowered the seat and reached into the dark trunk.

"Keep on them, Finch. I'm on my way," John said.

Sam felt around until her fingers touched a fabric strap. She pulled at it and angled it so the entire bag came through. "Nice," she said as she looked through it. Inside were a shot gun with extra rounds, a couple tear gas grenades, and a semi-automatic rifle.

Sam grabbed the shot gun and loaded it as Finch sped up to keep with the Escalade. She climbed back into the front and fell in the passenger seat as Finch hurtled around a corner.

"We were right. They're going onto the freeway," Finch pointed at the sign and changed lanes right behind them. "Oh no."

"What is it?" John and Sam said at the same time.

"'A New York City police car just pulled up behind us. They're flashing their lights."

Sam twisted around and swore.

"Keep going, Finch." John said.

"I had a feeling you were going to say that." He glanced at Sam and the shot gun. "What are you going to do?"

"We have to slow them down," Sam said plainly. A familiar, yet scary feeling was taking her over. She'd only felt it once or twice before – a sheer, cold numbness that focused her mind on what she had to do, and nothing else. Even her fears couldn't break through.

"These guys are desperate ex cops, Finch," John said over the still open line. "If they take Lee, it's likely we won't see him again."

"Where's Lionel?" Sam asked.

"He's still at his post at the safe house, listening in."

"We're heading north on eighty seven," Finch said as they got onto the entrance ramp. The sirens started close behind them as they entered the freeway. He sped up as the Escalade zigzagged its way in between cars. Finch hesitated zigging with each zag.

"Harold, we're not driving Miss Daisy," Sam said, rolling down her window. "Get close to them."

"What are you doing?"

"_We _are going to try and push them off the road. And if that doesn't work – " she cocked the rifle as her hair blew around her face.

Horns honked, and more sirens moved after them as they blazed past other cars in pursuit of the Escalade. Finch's knuckles were pure white on the steering wheel.

"Sam, shooting out the tires is risky at those speeds," John said. "You have to get the right angle. Try for the hood, the engine, and if necessary, the driver. You're a good shot, you can do it."

"Got it," Sam said, getting to her knees. They pulled along side of the Escalade. "Try it Finch."

Finch wrenched the wheel over and knocked the Escalade off course for a split second, but the other driver retaliated. Finch let out a short yell and backed off as he steadied the wheel. Shots fired at them, breaking the glass in the back window of the Escalade. Sam ducked behind the frame of the car as Finch slid down in his seat, like a turtle retreating into his shell.

"Plan B, then," Sam said. "Unless you want to try that again?"

"No, no, you go right ahead," Finch said breathlessly.

"Keep it steady, Harold." Sam leaned out of the open window, holding the rifle up to eye level as the Escalade rammed into them again.

The weapon fired off a shot that scraped the roof of the Escalade as Sam was knocked off balance. She nearly fell into Finch's lap, but moved quickly back to her position in front of the window.

"What happened?" John said.

"This is more difficult than you make it sound, Mr. Reese. Hold on!" Finch shouted.

Sam gripped onto the seat as Finch swerved around a slower moving car in their lane. The tires screeched with the effort as Finch returned them into the lane, level with the Escalade. More gunfire came at them, breaking the windows in the back.

"Are they _trying_ to hit us?" Finch shouted over the noise.

Sam growled, her anger getting the better of her as she cocked another round into the rifle. She lowered the barrel to the rear tire of the Escalade and fired. The recoil knocked her back, but she'd hit her mark.

The car swerved in the lane, but didn't slow down. The rear tire flapped and beat haphazardly on the ground as the wheel spun.

"Stubborn," Sam muttered. She saw the flashes of colored lights out of the corner of her eye, smelled the burnt rubber and hot metal, and heard her heart thudding in her chest, the roaring wind, and Finch's squeaks all around her as she lifted the rifle to eye level again.

Her hair was swept back by the wind coming through the window. She aimed, and in a strange, quiet moment, she fired.

The blast hit the front tire and wheel, crippling the car. It spun off into the next lane, and to the side barrier wall of the freeway, where it made a hard, shattering stop.

Finch slammed on the breaks and pulled over as Sam ditched the rifle and went back for her hand gun.

The police cars passed them, unprepared for the sudden stop.

Finch stopped the car and took a breath as Sam leaped out. She ran several meters down the shoulder of the freeway to the decrepit looking Escalade. No one was getting out of it. She slowed and raised her weapon as she approached the car.

The back door opened and Sam stopped, her weapon trained on the door.

A head of curly brown hair peeked around it.

"Lee!" Sam said, and ran up to him, her gun still ready. "Are you all right?"

"The guy that grabbed me is knocked out. The driver isn't moving," he said as she came up.

The driver's side was pinned against the barrier wall. All of the glass was shattered.

Sam didn't bother to check. "Come on, let's go." She took Lee's hand and ran back to the other car. Opening the back door, she got Lee safely in as more sirens screeched up to them.

Doors opened and feet clamored onto the pavement.

"Freeze! Drop the weapon and show us your hands!"

Sam glanced over her shoulder at the officers coming towards them. "Go," she said to Finch. She tossed her gun in after Lee and shut the door. "Go now!" She stepped away, putting her hands up as the car with Finch and Lee sped away, and turned to face her captors.

Four officers closed in around her.

"Looks like your friends ditched you, huh?" A beefy male officer roughly took Sam's hands and cuffed them behind her back, as a surprisingly petite female quickly frisked her. She took Sam tightly by her arm and escorted her to one of the squad cars parked on the side of the road.


	7. Misunderstood

"Finch!" John's voice blared over the car speakers as Finch took the first exit ramp that presented itself. "What happened?"

"Are you all right, Lee?" Finch looked in the rearview mirror at the boy in the backseat.

"I'm okay," Lee answered. "I had my seat belt on."

"So you got him," John said with some relief.

"We need to go back for Sam," Lee said urgently.

"Finch," John's voice hardened like ice. "Where is Sam?"

"She gave herself up to the police so we could get away," Finch explained.

John was silent for a tense moment. "They're going to give her to the FBI. Tell me where you are, Finch. You need to ditch that car."

"They can't hold her, can they, Mr. Reese?"

"After seeing her firing a rifle on a public highway in broad daylight? What do _you_ think, Harold?"

* * *

The handcuffs cut painfully into her wrists as she leaned back against her hands in that uncomfortable, spindly chair. It seemed like hours since she watched Finch drive away, but it was hard to decipher time passing in that room. She was taken to a familiar precinct, brought into a room with a table and a couple chairs, and one window that had a sheet of thick, metal mesh bolted over it.

Sam tried again to reach an itch in the small of her back, but it was too high for her to get to whilst wearing those blasted handcuffs. She made a mental note: if she ever got out of there, she'd insist that John teach her how to break out of a pair of handcuffs.

The door opened. Detective Carter came in alone and shut the door. Sam watched her carefully as she moved behind her. The tension on Sam's wrists loosened as Carter unlocked the cuffs, setting her free.

"Thank you," Sam said, rubbing the life back into her wrists.

Carter didn't respond and sat down in the other chair at the corner of the table. "We only have about a minute before Agent Donnelly jumps in here. What the hell were you doing?"

Sam looked uncertainly around the room, knowing that somewhere, they were being watched. "It was supposed to be a boring baby sitting job with Harold, I swear," she said.

"Finch? He was driving that car?" Carter raised her eyebrows, and if Sam didn't know better, she would have said that the detective was impressed. "I thought it might have been John."

"I'm sure Finch will be happy to hear that," Sam tried not to smile. "You saw it?"

"A news chopper was nearby covering some other story, and they caught video of that stunt you pulled. It's probably all over the internet by now. But lucky for you, the footage is too far away to ID anybody."

Sam nodded, making another mental note to find that video… if she ever got out of there.

"Is Lee okay?"

"Yes," Carter said reluctantly. "They've taken him to another location. The ex wife's house isn't safe, obviously. You are damned lucky no one was hurt, Sam."

"What's going to happen to me?"

Carter sighed, and set something on the table. Sam's phone. They had taken it when they searched her. "It's still active," she said, and Sam understood. Finch, at the very least, had ears in the room. "They are going to offer you a deal. Basically, if you give him up, you get set free."

"Wonderful."

"Listen, Sam," Carter said seriously, lowering her voice. "Donnelly's been after John for a while now. He's going to try to convince you – "

The door to the interrogation room opened and three men stepped through. In the lead was a man wearing a nice brown suit, with unfortunate pop eyes, a pasty complexion and thinning hair. The other two looked like nondescript federal thugs. Until that point, Sam believed that men like that only existed in movies.

Carter got to her feet, slipping Sam's phone off the table and into her pocket. "She's not saying much," she said with disappointment.

Donnelly didn't respond and stepped forward. He held a file folder in his hands. Sam didn't return his gaze as he watched her. He was waiting her out. She would not give him the satisfaction of caving and speaking first. Sam kept her eyes locked on a point ahead of her, and continued to sit and stare silently, her hands folded in her lap.

"I can see what you mean, Detective," Donnelly said lightly. He set the file down in front of Sam. "Open it."

Still without looking at him, Sam rested her hands on the table top and flipped the file open. It was filled with photographs, the first of which was a fuzzy screen shot taken from surveillance footage. It was the upper half of a man wearing a suit with no neck tie. He had sharp eyes and dark hair.

"Keep going," Donnelly said.

Sam slid the bad picture of John aside. Underneath that was a picture of a carpeted floor and a wall with blood sprayed on every surface. A body lie face down, also covered in blood. The next photograph was similar to the first crime scene, and the one after that; and after that.

Sam sifted through the photographs, swallowing down hard against the sickness in her stomach. When she was finished, she closed the file folder and continued her staring contest with the wall as her mind worked frantically.

They thought John was a killer. Well, yes, that's exactly what he was, but not like that. He didn't kill if he didn't have to. It was always a last resort. Sam suspected that it was because of what he went through working for the government. He didn't want to take any more lives if he could avoid it. The horrible scenes in the pictures were the work of a murderer, or murderers more likely. And that certainly was not John.

Donnelly leaned down and flipped the file open again. He pointed to the picture of John.

"Do you know this man, Samantha?"

Sam looked at the picture again. "No. And do I get to know your name?"

"Agent Donnelly," he replied. "Are you sure you don't recognize him?"

Donnelly took the chair Carter had vacated. She leaned against the wall behind Sam.

"I'm sure, Agent Donnelly," Sam said. She looked up at him for the first time, meeting his round eyes.

"Well that is unfortunate," Donnelly said mocking disappointment in his voice. He gathered up the photographs and slid them back into the file before he closed it. "Because if you did know this man, and were willing to tell me a little about him, we would be prepared to let you go, and pretend your little high speed incident earlier didn't happen."

Oh tempt me, tempt me, Sam thought. She had to fight her usual eye rolling reaction, and kept her expression neutral. "I'm sorry," she said shortly.

Donnelly didn't appear satisfied. "Will you tell me why you're protecting him?"

"Why do you keep inferring that I know him?" Sam asked with a touch of frustration.

Donnelly gave her a tight lipped smile that was not comforting at all. He pulled something out of his pocket, a phone, and set it down in front of her. He turned the screen on and accessed a video.

Sam looked down at it and watched herself enter a post office, drop off a letter, and leave. She felt the urge to hurl something at the wall when John entered the post office soon after. He took her letter, and left as she did.

They stared at a shot of the empty post office for a while until Sam saw herself again in the video, outside on the sidewalk, now following John. She thought she'd been so clever, outsmarting him like that. Of course it had to come back and bite her in the ass.

"You knew he was following you, Samantha," Donnelly said, removing the phone.

Obviously, denial was no longer an option. Sam still was a writer at heart, even though she hadn't touched pen and a piece of paper, digital or otherwise, in a long while. Now, it was time to start writing again, and fast.

She sighed, slumping her shoulders forward as if Donnelly had succeeded and gotten to her. "Okay, fine. He's been stalking me for a while now," she admitted. Only then did she realize why Carter had taken her place behind her. That way, there wasn't a risk of two of John's mutual friends looking at each other and giving away more than they intended during this proceeding.

"Do you know his name?"

"No, I never got that far," Sam said, her mind moving a mile a second. "He's never hurt me, and I actually feel sorry for him. He seems kind of… lost, you know –"

"Samantha, this man is wanted for murder. He's responsible for those people you just saw."

Sam shrugged helplessly. "We went out once, and he was very sweet, but there was something that was weird about him, something not quite right," Sam pointed at her temple and crossed her eyes as illustration. "So I decided not to see him again. He's good looking, but the crazy kind of outweighed that," Sam hoped that John was listening in. "Not that it helped at all. I've told him to stop following me a few times, and he says that he will, but he just keeps doing it. It's almost like he's more protective of me than anything else. But he's never tried to hurt me."

"There's always a first time," Carter said from behind her, supporting the story.

Donnelly sat back in his chair. He still didn't seem satisfied. "Is there anything else you can tell us about him?"

Sam thought for a moment and decided on weaving in a snippet of truth here and there. "He knows how to fight really well. Once, when I was on my way home, it was late at night and I was attacked by somebody. But," Sam pointed at the now closed file, "thankfully that time he was following me home and he stopped them. I'd never seen fighting like that before. He saved me."

"Today on the freeway," Donnelly began and Sam's insides groaned. She hoped they'd steer away from that, what with her new information on John. "He wasn't driving the car you were in?"

Sam lifted her eyebrows. "He's my stalker, Agent Donnelly. Why would I be in a car with him?"

Donnelly smiled a little more pleasantly this time. "Of course." He leaned back in the chair and studied Sam very thoroughly. "Samantha, would you be willing to help us catch him?"

Sam frowned with concern. "Are you sure he killed all those people? He's really quiet, almost shy. I can't imagine him actually doing that to someone."

"Secretive, and paranoid, more like," Donnelly corrected.

Sam nearly let a laugh out. Agent Donnelly knew John better than she thought.

"You said yourself he knows how to fight."

Sam shrugged. "Thugs on the street, yeah."

"We have evidence that places him at each of those crime scenes," Donnelly continued. "We also believe that he's working for an extremely dangerous man in the city. It's very important that we catch him before anyone else suffers for it. Who knows? The next one of these photographs could be yours."

Scare tactics. Sam never thought they'd be so obvious. "What man?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You said he's working for a dangerous man. Who?"

"His name is Elias. He's a mob boss, of sorts," Carter said. Donnelly glanced up at her, but Sam couldn't read the look he was conveying.

Sam glanced behind her, then back at Donnelly. How could these people have it so _wrong_? John working for Elias? Where'd they come up with that? At least the CIA agents that were after John had a little better idea of what was going on. This was getting ridiculous!

"I really don't know what I can do to help you," Sam said helplessly.

"Hold that thought for a moment, Samantha. Carter," Donnelly stood and gestured for Detective Carter to follow him. They left the room, leaving Sam alone. Only now, she was finally able to reach the itch on her back.

* * *

John's shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows as he slowly walked back and forth across the room. He kept his eyes down as they listened in on Sam's interrogation. She had somehow painted him as an obsessed, yet cuddly stalker, if there ever was such a thing.

They heard a door shut and Finch adjusted the volume.

"What are you thinking?" Carter's voice came through the speakers in HQ.

"If she's telling the truth, this may be just what we need," Donnelly said quietly.

"It sure looks like it. We have the video of him following her," Carter replied. A short pause followed. "You want to use her as bait to lure him out," she concluded.

"Exactly. If he's as obsessed over her as she claims, he'll come for her. He may even be looking for her now."

"How true," Finch muttered.

"You're just planning to set her loose and pounce on him once he starts coming after her again?"

"Not as easily as that, no," Donnelly said. John heard the thoughtfulness in his voice. "We need to get her to our headquarters."

"I can arrange a transfer – "

"No," Donnelly said. "We can't use ground transport, at least not the obvious kind. He was ready for that last time."

John smiled a little at the memory. It must have gotten under Donnelly's skin more than he'd like to admit.

"I'll take care of the transfer, Carter." Donnelly's voice vibrated with anticipation. "You go back in there and offer our deal to Samantha. She'll take it, don't worry."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Well," Donnelly sighed. "What is the standard punishment for running two ex dirty cops, and would be kidnappers off of the road? We _should_ try recruiting her when you come right down to it."

"How flattering," Finch said.

* * *

Sam had wandered over to the two way mirror. She cupped her hands around her face and peered into the glass to try and see through to the other side.

The door opened again. Sam turned and relaxed when she saw Carter coming in alone once more.

"Do you know how they came to those brilliant conclusions about John?" Sam asked. "No wonder they believed my story about him. They'll believe anything!"

"I'm supposed to offer you a deal," Carter said.

"Fire away."

"The incident today will be completely forgotten if you assist the FBI in catching him. They want to use you as bait to get him out in the open."

"Sounds easy enough," Sam shrugged. "I just need to show a little leg and have a pair of handcuffs on me," she shouted in the direction of Carter's pocket.

Carter looked at her suspiciously, but Sam shook her head. "It's a long story."

"I don't need to know it," Carter lifted her hands in front of her as though she were pushing the story away. "They're going to move you to their HQ so they can prep you."

"Sure, okay. Are we going now?"

"As soon as Agent Donnelly makes the arrangements."

* * *

"Leg and handcuffs?" Finch asked, raising his eyebrows.

The conversation continued, and John didn't answer. He listened until Carter left Sam alone again.

"They won't use ground transport," John said. "Find out what kind of transport they're using, Finch." He grabbed his jacket and headed toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Finch called after him.

"To see a man about a horse," John shouted back as he left.


	8. Escape

Hours went by. Sam stood on the chair in the corner of the interrogation room, and peered through the mesh covered window. The light outside looked dull. Perhaps it was close to evening, or it could just be the mesh.

The door opened and Sam jumped off of the chair to the floor. Agent Donnelly came in, holding the door open. "Are you ready?"

Sam nodded. "I guess so."

"Let's go."

Carter walked next to her. They were surrounded by a group of agents headed up by Donnelly as they exited the precinct and moved into a building next door.

Sam was stuffed into an elevator with Carter and the others. She looked over their heads at the elevator light, indicating which floor they were heading towards. The elevator car didn't stop until the top floor lit up, and the doors opened.

Carter took Sam by the arm and guided her into a hallway. All Sam could see was the backs of the agents in front of her and the walls of the corridor at her sides.

They went through a set of double doors that led to a stairwell, and started moving up. Sam didn't like where this was going. When she agreed to go to their headquarters, she assumed that it would still be in the city somewhere.

Donnelly led the way to the top of the stairs, and through a heavy door that opened out onto the roof of the building. The sun was just starting to set as Sam stepped out onto the roof and a helipad.

"Is this really necessary?" she asked Carter.

"They seem to think so," Carter said. "Our guy has a reputation for interfering with ground transfers."

Sam understood. They were doing all of this to avoid John.

Two black helicopters stood on the pad, waiting. Once the pilots noticed the new arrivals, the engines started with a roar. At least one engine did. The second helicopter seemed to be having some trouble.

The propellers on the first one began to spin faster and faster. The wind picked up and Carter put her arm around Sam, guiding her to the working helicopter.

Donnelly held Carter and Sam up with the other agents. They huddled together in front of him. "We'll take this one," he shouted over the noise, gesturing blatantly with his arms. He looked to one of the other agents. "If this isn't working in the next five minutes, take the streets."

The agent nodded and backed away as Donnelly got in the front of the helicopter. Carter opened the door to the back and let Sam and herself inside. It wasn't much quieter in the cab of the helicopter, but it wasn't as windy at least.

Donnelly gestured to the pilot, who turned to look at him. His head and the upper half of his face were concealed with a black helmet and visor. He nodded to Donnelly and glanced back at Sam and Carter.

Sam stiffened when she recognized that subtle smirk on the pilot's lips just before he faced forward again. She cupped a hand over her eyes, willing herself to believe that she didn't see him there. Her astonishment mixed with her panic, thus creating a lovely cocktail of terror.

"Hey, are you okay?" Carter asked. She hadn't seen him. They hadn't seen him. Agent Donnelly was sitting next to the very man he'd been chasing for months, and he didn't even know it! Sam desperately tried to figure what John's brilliant plan would be to get out of this as she sat in the back of that helicopter cabin. Soon, they'd be in the air, and trapped in there together for a few minutes at least.

But it didn't even get that far. Sam watched, frozen solid from her shock, as John leaned closer to Agent Donnelly.

"I'm really sorry about this," he shouted as he grabbed Donnelly by the back of his neck and headbutted him, knocking the FBI agent out cold.

That, in turn, got Carter's attention. John pushed the agent out of the door, back onto the helipad as he pulled a weapon from out of nowhere and pointed it at Carter. He jerked the barrel toward the door and Carter understood. "Thank you, Detective," he said.

Carter looked fit to kill, but she calmly took Sam's phone out of her pocket and returned it to her. She opened the door and stepped out of the helicopter, back to the roof as Sam covered her face and sank down in her seat. The doors shut, and Sam heard the whine of the turbine engine reach a higher pitch as the propellers moved faster.

Sam looked out the window. The other FBI agents, seeing Donnelly and Carter back on the ground, ran towards them, drawing their weapons. Her stomach dropped as the helicopter lifted itself off of the pad.

John reached back, tapping her on the knee. He pointed to the front seat and Sam, feeling slightly nauseated, climbed into the front with him.

She looked at him and took a minute to absorb what she saw. Of course he knew how to fly a helicopter. Why wouldn't he? He probably knows how to fly a plane, the space shuttle, and Santa's sleigh too!

"You are absolutely out of your mind!" she shouted, as the helicopter moved over the roof of the building and was hanging in mid air over the city.

John looked at her through that dark visor and shook his head. He tapped the side of his helmet over his ear. Sam looked around in her seat and saw the headset hanging on the side frame of the helicopter. She took it off the hook, put it over her ears, and plugged in the jack after another few seconds of looking.

"Did you miss me?" He asked. His voice crackled through her headset as he guided the helicopter to a higher altitude.

"Well, this is about as subtle as cannon," Sam said. "I thought you were going to take advantage of the stalker bait idea."

"That would have taken too long."

"How do you expect to get away with this? Stealing a helicopter, then kidnapping a witness to the FBI! And if they weren't sure about you and me being connected, they sure are now! They're going to follow you to wherever you land this thing. And Donnelly's going to skin you alive!"

"He has to catch me first. Have a little faith, Sam," John said. The helicopter jerked awkwardly and John gripped onto the controls, steadying the aircraft. Sam braced herself against John and the side wall.

"Have you ever flown one of these before? Or did you just think you could try it, and learn as you go?"

"I've flown before," John said. "Just not in a while. And you're welcome, by the way."

Sam flung her arms helplessly in the air as she looked out the window. The light from the clear sunset glistened off of the city buildings, making it look as if part of the city was on fire. Traffic crisscrossed in a constantly flowing, tightly woven, glowing grid underneath them.

The only sound Sam heard was the thudding of the propellers. It was as if she was no longer a part of the world, and was a lone figure, observing it from above. The feeling was thrilling to say the least, and something she'd never before experienced.

The situation and the emotions it was causing were so overwhelming that it was difficult for her to process. Sam started laughing, and John looked over at her. She let out an uncontrollable whoop and laughed some more. Her overloaded emotions needed some sort of outlet, and this seemed to be the best option. "I just can't – I can't _believe _you, John! I really can't." She was hysterical, but she didn't care. John smiled as he steered.

"Is everything all right, Mr. Reese?" Finch's voice came through the headset.

"We're fine," John replied. "Heading over to you now."

"Where are we going?" Sam asked, taking a few calming breaths.

"I believe this is Stage Two of The Great Escape," Finch answered.

"They're going to be tracking us."

"And the trick is," John said with that faint smile, "to give them more than one target to track."

"What about Lionel and the other two?" Sam asked.

"They're fine for now. Fusco is with his son, and we have eyes and ears on the safe house," John looked over at her. "Your need for rescuing was a little more urgent."

They flew over the city in the twilight, heading over the East River. Sam leaned forward in her seat, looking out the front window as they were getting closer to the buildings.

"Isn't that Yankee Stadium?" she asked.

"It is," John confirmed.

"The game is nearly over, Mr. Reese," Finch said.

"Why are you worried about the game?"

"Finch knows I like to keep track of baseball stats," John said dismissively.

They flew over the stadium and Sam looked down at the tiny figures on field, illuminated by bright, artificial lights. She tried getting a look at the score, but they weren't that close yet, and the angle was wrong anyway.

John lowered them smoothly as they flew over the stadium.

"Just one block north of the stadium," Finch instructed in their ears.

"I know, Finch," John said.

They cleared the stadium and Sam sat up as they got lower and lower, their speed slowing. John's entire frame tightened up as he concentrated. Sam left him to it rather than break his concentration while they landed.

They moved over trees and slowed over a clearing in a park about a block away from the stadium as Finch had instructed.

"We're landing in a park?"

"It's the closest space, and it is big enough," John said reasonably.

They hovered over the grass, and John expertly set the skids down on the ground. Sam felt gravity take over again, and it took a short moment for her stomach to readjust to it.

John shut everything down and took off the helmet. "Let's go," he said, and opened his door.

"You're just going to leave it here?"

John stopped halfway out of the helicopter and looked thoughtfully at her. "They'll be sure to find it, Sam."

Sam pulled off her headset and climbed out as John met her on her side. Sam couldn't stop her smile at seeing the rest of his face. He helped her out, took her hand, and they set off together casually down the sidewalk, as if they hadn't just escaped the FBI in a stolen helicopter, and landed in a public park.

* * *

"They've already landed."

Donnelly and the other agents, still at the 8th precinct, had set up a temporary HQ in order to find the helicopter and their new informant.

Carter sat at her desk in silence and watched the chaos unfold around her the moment Donnelly regained consciousness. Her phone was in her hands, and she waited.

Donnelly perked up at the news of the landing. "Forget the air pursuit then. Where are they?"

"East one sixty fifth," a nameless agent reported from another desk they had commandeered for tracking the escaped helicopter. Donnelly, holding a cold compress to his head moved around to the monitor and squinted at it. Carter suspected he was seeing double, or possibly triple.

"They just landed in a park? Is there any law enforcement in the area?"

"It looks like a few are patrolling the area."

"Get them looking now! We need to get a perimeter around that area and seal it off."

"Sir, that's right next to Yankee Stadium."

"I don't care if it is next to the Vatican, get it sealed off!" Donnelly's eyes were popping more than usual. Carter felt a little concern that he may have a concussion. John had been wearing a helmet after all.

* * *

They ran across the street into the shadow of the back of the stadium, where John stopped them.

"Where's your phone?"

Sam handed it to him. He took a spare ear piece out of his pocket, hooked her phone up to it and handed it back to her. Sam fit the earpiece in her ear, and the phone went into her pants pocket.

He looked at Sam critically for a moment and took a hold of her light blue jacket. He zipped it up, and pulled the hood over her head, stuffing her hair back into it.

"Great disguise," she said.

"It is, actually. Subtlety, Sam, works better every time." He took her hand again and they were off around the stadium.

"Subtlety? You just stole a helicopter and kidnapped me from the FBI."

"Rescued," John corrected.

"The game is over," Finch said in their ears. "People are starting to leave the stadium."

"Who won?" John asked.

"The Yankees beat the Orioles, three to two."

"Woo!" Sam cheered quietly.

"That will make the crowds a little more… celebratory, I'd guess," Finch said.

A patrol car flashed its lights behind them. Sam instinctively tried to stop, but John pulled her along.

"Just keep moving. Assume that they're looking for us. If they're not now, they will be in a minute."

The car slowed and pulled up next to them, but they kept walking. The police car stopped and Sam heard doors opening. This all seemed so familiar somehow.

"Excuse me," someone called from behind them. The officer's voice was nice, casual, but they kept going. "Hey, hold it, right there, guys."

Sam resisted the urge to turn her head to look at them as John's strides became faster and longer. Sam nearly had to run to keep up.

"Stop! Stop right now!" The officer shouted.

"Go," John said.

They broke into a run, Sam panting to keep up with John as they skirted around the stadium to the front, which began pouring out people onto the street. John took her hand again and slowed.

"Ditch your jacket," he said, stopping in the middle of the crowd.

People and the noise of excited, post game chatter surrounded them. Sam unzipped her jacket and pulled it off. There wasn't anywhere she could put it, not even a garbage can. A young woman with hair about the same color as Sam's was approaching them, arm in arm with her boyfriend.

Sam grabbed onto her arm. "Hey, you look cold. Take my jacket."

"What?"

Sam draped it around her shoulders. "It looks fabulous on you."

The girl looked at her in confusion, but didn't move to take the jacket off as her boyfriend pulled her along.

John had also removed his suit jacket and put it on Sam. She pushed her arms through the sleeves, buttoned one of the buttons and they continued through the thickening crowd. Sam was getting jostled and pushed in every direction until her hand slipped out of John's grasp. The moment it did, she was knocked off balance and fell onto the sidewalk, scraping her palms and her knee on the rough pavement.

"I'm sorry about that, sweetheart," someone said above her. "Are you all right?"

Sam looked up to meet the face of a woman with what looked like three kids in tow, all wearing Yankees caps.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Sam said as she helped her up.

"It's all of these people, I can't tell which way I'm headed half the time!" The woman laughed.

Sam glimpsed something out of the corner of her eye and looked quickly. It was a police officer. He was speaking on his radio and scanning the crowds. Sam turned her back towards him.

"It is really crowded," Sam agreed, and smiled at the nice lady.

"I'm sorry about that. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Sam risked another look over her shoulder. The officer was still there, but he was looking in the opposite direction now.

"Hey honey," a familiar voice said next to her. "I thought I lost you."

Sam looked up and saw John. She felt him take her hand again.

"I just about knocked the stuffing out of her," Sam's apparent new friend said jovially. She looked at John, then back at Sam. "It's good that you have a tall one, dear. He can see over everyone else. Makes it easier to maneuver."

Sam laughed, keeping one eye on the police officer close by. "Yeah, it really does."

"Have a good night," the nice woman said before she was dragged away by her kids.

Sam pulled at John's arm. He lowered his ear to her lips. "There's a policeman right behind us. And he's looking for someone," she whispered.

"We're all in position, Mr. Reese," Finch said.

Over the jabbering voices of the moving people, Sam heard the distant shriek of police sirens. They were coming for them. She swallowed down her panic and checked behind them again. The officer was gone.

"He's gone," Sam said breathlessly. "Where do we have to go?"

John scanned his surroundings in one sweep of his eyes and pulled on Sam's hand.

They worked their way through the rest of the crowds as the sirens came closer, and moved along perimeter of the stadium with others walking home from the game until Sam saw a familiar and very welcome face.

Detective Fusco stood leaning up against his car that was illegally parked at the curb. When he looked up and saw them, he immediately opened the car door and got into the driver's seat. John opened the back door and let Sam jump in first. Once they were inside, and the door was shut, Fusco switched on his lights and pulled out onto the street as the other squad cars, marked and unmarked, approached the stadium.

"Hi Sam!" Lee's curly head of hair popped around from the front seat. "Did you really come in a helicopter?"

"Did you really land it in the park?" Lionel asked.

"Hi Lee," Sam said happily in spite of the stressful situation.

"Yes, and yes," John answered.

Sam and John slouched down together in the back seat as Fusco and his unmarked police car blended right in at the back of the line of the rest of the government vehicles. Once they were at the back of the stadium, Fusco pulled away from the line of cars, switched off his lights, and kept driving.


	9. Crash

Carter stepped out of the SUV onto the walk next to Yankee Stadium. The place was a madhouse. If Donnelly found them in this, he'd be a miracle worker. And the evidence thus far indicated that Donnelly was rather the opposite. John on the other hand…

"What have we got?" Carter asked a patrolman who approached her.

"We have a couple who match the descriptions of the two suspects in custody."

Carter raised her eyebrows and looked at Donnelly, who had joined them. "Where are they?"

"This way, sir," the patrolman turned and led them away from the stadium.

"Looks like you got what you wanted before you even started," Carter said as they walked.

"She was definitely telling the truth," Donnelly said as if he couldn't believe it himself.

"Do you think he would have killed her this time?"

"Come again?" Donnelly asked, looking down at her.

"Well, she was kidnapped, wasn't she?" Carter said in attempt to steer Donnelly's suspicions of Sam in the right direction. "You don't think she went with him willingly?"

"I'm beginning to think that there's more going on here with the two of them than just a very skilled stalker," Donnelly said.

"After he got rid of you he pulled a gun on the both of us," Carter explained yet again. "I'd say she didn't want to go."

"Well, as we both know, you were the one who was there."

Carter decided against continuing her defense of Sam. Donnelly didn't sound convinced and she suspected that he never would be fully convinced of Sam's innocence again.

They followed the patrolman to a group of officers who were all trying to calm down a shrieking woman.

"You have no right to keep us here!" she said. "I _want_ my phone. I have a right to make a phone call!"

Carter and Donnelly pushed their way into the center of the group and saw a very distressed young woman, and an equally young man who was leaning against a squad car, watching the woman's tantrum.

"This is the couple we asked you to find?"

"They fit the description," the patrolman said defensively.

Carter looked at the pair a little more closely. Well, the girl's hair was about the same color and length as Sam's, and she was wearing the same blue jacket Sam had on, but she was about ten years younger. The young man was tall-ish, and that was the end of his similarities with John. Carter bit her lip to keep from laughing.

Donnelly's eyes lost focus for a moment and he seemed to force them back onto the patrolman. "These are not the suspects," he said steadily.

"Cut them loose, officer," Carter said.

"Close off this area now," Donnelly said. "We are looking for a woman with dark hair, in a t-shirt and sweats, and a man in his early forties, tall, wearing a suit."

The officers stood still for a moment too long.

"_Now_!" Donnelly said, his eyes popping more than usual.

The officers set off as Carter walked away with Donnelly, back towards the stadium.

* * *

Sam watched the flashing red and blue lights fade away, along with the noises around the stadium as Lionel continued driving. The only light left was that of the streetlamps overhead, fading in and out as they passed them by.

"I cannot believe that all of that just happened," Sam said. She and John were still crouched down in the back seat together. She looked over at him and rolled her eyes at his smug expression.

"I told you to have a little faith, Sam."

"Donnelly is going to want to kill you himself after this."

John shrugged. "A lot of people seem to want to do that."

"That's very true," Sam said thoughtfully. "I wanted to just yesterday."

They shared a look and John shook his head.

"Where are we headed now?" Sam asked, quickly changing the subject.

"We're meeting Finch, so you guys can switch cars," Lionel said, glancing in the rearview mirror.

"But you said more than one target," Sam sat up normally along with John as she addressed him.

"Finch hired a few town cars to sit at different areas around the stadium, and leave at the same time we did, all in different directions. They won't know who to follow."

"If they even saw them," Lionel added.

"Would that be the same company that let you rent that helicopter?" Sam asked.

"I only borrowed it, Sam. They got it back without a scratch."

Lionel laughed. "I should have known you could fly one of those things."

"Me too," Sam agreed. "Honestly, John, I'm going to make it my life's goal to find something you can't do very well – what is – "

Everything happened very fast after that. Sam saw John look past her as a light illuminated his features inside the car. For half a second, he looked scared.

"Sam!" He made a grab for her, pulling her with him to the opposite side of the car as the world shifted and broke apart.

The loudest noise crunched through her brain as Sam was jostled with the others in the car when it was hit. It spun a one eighty and stopped dead.

Sam looked over John's arm. Lionel was hunched over, the window next to him was shattered and held a spot of blood on the glass.

"Give me your phone," John said instantly as they heard car doors slam close by.

Sam dug into her pocket and handed her phone to John. He pulled her earpiece out and tucked them away.

"Lee? Are you all right?" Sam asked weakly.

"I think so. Dad?" Lee grabbed Lionel's arm and shook him. Lionel was out. "Come on, Dad, wake up."

Lee's door opened first and he was ripped out into the darkness. He yelled for only a moment until his voice was muffled by something.

John's door opened soon after. Sam watched, terrified, as a pair of hands grabbed John roughly by his shirt and dragged him out of the car. Sam was next. She staggered to her feet as the man who grabbed her held tightly onto her. Two men held John on either side, another held Lee in front of him, his hand over the boy's mouth.

"Fusco's out cold," someone said from the other side of the wrecked police car.

"Bring him," said the man who held Sam. "This is an unexpected surprise," he said to the group. "We were only aiming for Fusco and managed to get a very valuable bonus."

Sam struggled against him. He bent her arm painfully behind her until she stopped.

"Search them, and cuff all of them," he said as two other men hefted Fusco out of the car. "Except for you, pretty," he said in Sam's ear.

John stood patiently as he was frisked from either side. Two handguns were found on him and one phone. The phone was smashed and the weapons confiscated. Sam was about to kick her guy in the crotch for as friendly as he was getting while searching her for weapons.

"Where's your phone?" he asked.

"I don't have it?" Sam patted her pockets and John's jacket that she still wore. "It must have fallen out somewhere between the helicopter and here."

Lee and John were put in cuffs, their arms in front of them and marched off to a large SUV that stood waiting. Sam's hands were still free as her attentive escort dragged her to the driver's side of the SUV and told her to get in.

"You're driving, sweetheart." He pointed a gun at her head and opened the door.

Sam obediently climbed into the driver's seat. She adjusted the seat and the mirrors as everyone else was shoved inside. John was in the far back seat, in between two of their captors. Lee was next to Fusco who was slumped against the side of the car, his hands also in cuffs. On Lee's other side was another thug. The front passenger side opened and Sam's captor hoisted himself inside, pointing the gun at her. "Drive," he said.

Sam automatically went for her seatbelt and heard a noise from the back. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw John's eyes reflected back at her. He blinked, and nodded his head once, just slightly as she pulled the seatbelt across her front. Sam understood.

"Are you okay, Lee?" Sam asked, looking in the mirror as she started the engine.

"I'm okay," he said in a small voice.

"We'll be all right, don't be scared," she tried to smile, but wasn't sure of how it looked.

"Everyone has their seatbelt on?" she said as she clicked hers into place.

"Quit stalling," her personal thug said, cocking his weapon and pointing it in her face. "Shut up and drive."

Sam glared at him. She was already sick of him ordering everyone around, and she imagined that John was sick of it too. "We could be pulled over for not having seatbelts on, especially with a minor in the vehicle," Sam pointed out. "Unless you_ want_ that to happen, of course. It's up to you."

Sam glanced in the rearview mirror and received a subtle wink from John in the back.

With a groan, her captor relented. "Everyone get seatbelts on. Help the kid," he jabbed the gun at the man next to Lee.

"No, that one's mine, see?" John said from the back. "That one right there is yours."

Once the muttering and shifting quieted down, Sam put the SUV into gear and pulled onto the road.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Just drive, I'll tell you where to go."

Sam shrugged, and kept her eyes on the road, glancing every few minutes in the rearview mirror.

Someone groaned from the back. Sam looked in her mirror and saw Lionel waking up in handcuffs.

"What the hell happened?" he looked to his right and saw Lee, also wearing cuffs. Then up front where he met Sam's eyes in the rearview mirror, and finally at the back where John twitched a small smile at him.

"Oh… great," he said.

"Welcome back, Fusco," Sam's partner up front said.

"Lewis," Lionel said disdainfully. "What the hell are you doing?"

Sam was impressed at Lionel's casual, snappy tone in spite of the situation he found himself in.

"Working under new management," Lewis replied with a smile.

Sam's eyes went to the mirror again. John looked back at her, his eyes narrowed. They were cops, all of them ex cops – part of what once was HR. They must have landed on their feet, though, if they'd found 'new management'. Sam already suspected what that might be, and she was certain John was thinking along the same lines.

She continued driving straight until they came to the river, and she had to turn one way or another.

"Cross the river," Lewis said.

Sam nodded and turned left, heading for a bridge.

"We're going to the safe house," John spoke up for the first time since they were captured.

"Smart guy," Lewis said mockingly. "Boss has some business there that needs to be taken care of. As long as we get it done, he doesn't care what we do on the way there." He waved his gun in Lionel's face.

The safe house - where Brander and Lovell were being held. "Elias had them let out of prison," Sam said quietly as she pieced the rest of the puzzle together. "He had the judge, the defense attorney, everyone."

"Do you know why you're supposed to kill them, Lewis?" John asked.

"That's not my business," Lewis answered like a true, honest peon. "It's something boss wants done, so we're doing it."

John let out a short laugh. "From one hierarchy to the next, huh?" he said. "You'll always be working for someone, somewhere. Someone smarter, with bigger plans."

Judging from the expression on Lewis' face, Sam was beginning to think that he didn't know the meaning of the word 'hierarchy'. "What do you know about it?" was his brilliant reply.

They reached the bridge over the East River. Sam glanced up in the mirror. John shook his head once without looking back at her. He already knew what she was thinking. Fine, she wouldn't wreck the car on purpose. That wasn't a guarantee they'd get out of the situation anyway, but it would have been a decent distraction at the very least.

"I know that Elias only uses people until they stop being useful. You're ex cops, temperamental, erratic, unreliable, and extremely disloyal. How long do you think you guys will last with him?"

"It might have been easier for you if you turned yourself in," Fusco said in agreement.

"Shut up, the two of you! I'd risk going into business with anyone, Fusco, if it meant I got to sit and watch you pay for giving us up."

"It would have been somebody else if not me," Lionel said simply, wincing at the pain in his head.

"But it was you," Lewis said. "Bad luck, right? Turn right up here."

Sam put on her signal and slowed down. It was like driving a bus, the thing was so huge and heavy. "Turning right."

"Look, do whatever makes you feel better," Lionel said. "These guys and my son don't have anything to do with it. Pull us over and let them go."

"That's very gallant, Lionel," John commented.

Lionel ignored him.

"No, you see, these two are almost as bad as you are, Fusco," Lewis said. "If I'm not mistaken, this is the little lady that drove two of our guys off of the road earlier today, isn't that right?"

Sam kept her eyes locked forward and her mouth shut.

"And as for the gentleman in the back, he's been a pain in our side for a long while now. I heard the FBI is looking for you too. I don't think boss would be sad if we got rid of all three of you. Second left, sweetheart."

Sam slowed again and turned left. If he called her sweetheart one more time…

"You think he'll promote you instead?" John asked, his voice soft. "You really don't understand who you're dealing with, do you?"

That last, honest question caught Lewis off guard. Sam's eyes flicked to the passenger side as she drove. Lewis' certainty was wavering, and it showed on his face.

They drove into a tightly knit neighborhood. There wasn't a lot of space in between the modest houses. Sam slowed her speed and crept along the road.

"Pull over right here," Lewis instructed.

Sam pulled in front of one of the houses, which wasn't dissimilar to any of the other houses around it. She stopped the SUV and looked in the mirror. John's eyes were hard. He glanced at her, then looked away.

They had arrived at the safe house.


	10. Serpent

A perimeter was set, and the area sealed off. However, Carter knew that John and Sam were well away from there already. They had basically sealed off the air.

Her phone rang and she stepped away from Donnelly and a few police officers. "Don't tell me," she answered the phone, "They have to come back over here because they left something in the chopper."

"I'm afraid not, Detective," Finch said over the phone. "They, along with Detective Fusco, have been captured by what used to be HR. They are heading to the safe house where Brander and Lovell are being kept. Any help you can provide would be appreciated."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm heading over there now."

"What's your plan, Finch? Are you going to wave your laptop at them until they surrender?" Carter smiled at the visual image in her head.

"I was hoping you could help me with the details, Detective."

Carter looked around and sighed, frustrated. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Sooner rather than later would be preferable." He hung up.

* * *

"This isn't the place," John said.

Sam turned around in her seat. John was leaning forward, looking out the window of the SUV. "What is it then? Where are we?" she asked.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't specific enough for you," Lewis said smugly. "They were just relocated. Sometimes it pays when you're dealing with someone who can't tell the difference between a cop and an ex cop." Lewis grinned.

"How did you figure where they were in the first place?" Lionel asked hotly.

"I still have some friends on the force, Fusco." Lewis jabbed his weapon at Sam.

"I doubt that."

"Get out."

Sam stepped out of the SUV onto the street. Lionel and Lee followed suit with a little more difficulty, using their cuffed hands. Two men were already outside, waiting for them. One of them grabbed onto Sam, most likely making certain that she wouldn't take advantage of still having her hands free.

They walked in a line up to the house and through the front door.

Sam entered what probably was the living room and saw two men sitting back to back on wooden chairs. Their hands and legs were tied to the chairs, and their faces and heads were covered by black hoods. They twitched in response to the voices and footsteps entering the room.

She stared at them, transfixed. She slowed until she stood there, in the middle of the room, her eyes locked on the two prisoners. Though she still wasn't able to see their faces, she couldn't keep from looking at them.

"Make it neat," Lewis said.

His voice brought Sam away from wherever she'd been, and she soon realized that John hadn't followed them into the house.

More chairs were brought in from another room, and Sam was pushed into one of them, a gun held to her head as they began to tie her up. Where was John?

Sam kept her eyes on the doorway. Shots were fired on the street. Judging from the quality of the neighborhood, that probably was a usual occurrence, but it got everyone's attention nonetheless.

Lionel sat up, exchanging a glance with Sam. "Where is he?"

Lewis turned his weapon onto them. "Everyone back up! You two! Go and check it out," he nodded to a couple of his accomplices.

Leaving her potential bonds on the floor, Sam grabbed onto Lee and backed up with Lionel into a corner of the room, hoping that what was happening was what she thought was happening. John had somehow freed himself and taken out the two men in the back seat of the car without anyone noticing. It was possible, but damn, he was good. Then, she remembered, the seatbelts. He must have done something right then to get out of the cuffs.

Lewis stood, his weapon trained on the door along with one other man. They waited, Sam right with them. Everyone in the room held their breath, waiting for what was going to happen next, whatever that may be.

A body was tossed through the doorway. Lewis and his man fired off a couple shots each until they realized they were shooting at one of their own. He landed on the tile entryway, and kept still.

The last of Lewis' men walked over to him. He crouched down over him and had his head forced into the door jam for his trouble. He went down as well.

Lewis was all that was left as John walked in, his eyes blazing. His weapon was trained on Lewis' forehead.

"You're all alone now," John said. The pair of handcuffs still dangled from his right wrist. "Put the gun down."

The nearest weapon was the one that belonged to the unfortunate man who had his head slammed into the wall. He wasn't moving, and the gun was across the room, behind John. Still at a loss for anything to do, Sam waited, holding onto Lee, and keeping close to Lionel.

Lewis backed up, coming closer to the three of them. He quickly turned, grabbed Sam by the arm, ripping her away from Lee and his father, and held her firmly in front of him. He pressed himself against her back, holding her arm at an awkward angle, so if she moved, it would hurt like hell.

Sam felt the cold barrel of the gun against her temple, and Lewis' vice like grip around her.

"Where are the others?" Lewis asked.

He breathed down Sam's neck. She resisted the urge to try and pull away and kept her eyes focused on John. His weapon was pointed at Lewis, but his eyes were on her, always on her as Lewis tried to move both he and Sam around to the opposite side of the room.

"I didn't kill them, if that's what you're asking," John said steadily. "I can extend the same courtesy to you if you let her go and put the gun down, now."

Lewis' grip didn't loosen. In fact, he held onto Sam tighter until she let out a short yell from the pain coursing through her arm and side.

"What's your plan now, Lewis?" John asked. "You have nowhere else to go."

"I've got plenty of places," Lewis spat.

"Really?" John said darkly. "You screwed up one of Elias' operations, and you think that someone else in the underworld will open their door to you?"

Even Sam felt a shiver of fear at the tone John's voice took on. It was as though his voice was made from the darkness itself.

Lewis didn't have the chance to respond. He paused along with Sam. The entire room went still, listening to a distant sound, an engine coming up the street at high speed.

"Down!" John shouted. He leaped for Sam as the noise of the engine grew louder and bullets started flying in, shattering the windows and the walls.

She was knocked back by John's tackle, and clung onto him as they hit the floor. He surrounded her completely as Lewis fell to the floor next to them. His eyes were wide with frozen surprise, never to blink again. The noise lasted for a few seconds as bullets flew overhead. Sam squeezed her eyes shut and screamed, digging her nails into John's shirt.

Her ears rang and thudded to the rhythm of John's nearby heartbeat. Sam opened her eyes. Most of her vision was obscured by John's shoulder, the rest was the ceiling of the house. He was sprawled over her, like a great big, protective blanket.

"Is everyone all right?" John asked the room at large.

"We're all right," Lionel said from the corner.

"Sam?" John lifted his head and looked at her, their noses nearly touching.

The fact that John was lying on top of her took a back seat to the situation at hand. "_What_ is going on?" she said breathlessly, and grunted. "Who shot at us? John, you're crushing my pelvis."

John rolled off of her and they sat up just in time to see Scarface enter the house through the still open doorway. He kicked the body of one of the ex cops aside. He was followed closely by a few other men, and Elias, who moseyed in as if he'd just been out for an evening stroll and came to see what the ruckus was about.

"I'm seeing ghosts, boss," Scarface said.

"Indeed. Quite ingenious, Samantha," Elias said. "Though, I had always suspected." His dark eyes snapped to the side of the room where Brander and Lovell were still tied up.

"Are they alive?"

"Yeah."

"How did you find us?" Sam asked as she was wrenched to her feet by yet another henchman.

"We've been tracking this project the entire time, Samantha," Elias answered helpfully. He stepped over the broken glass, Lewis' body, and approached Lionel and Lee who remained crouched together on the floor.

Elias reached toward Lee who jerked away quickly. "I promise I won't hurt you."

The boy must have believed him, because he allowed Elias to slip his finger just inside his sneaker. He extracted a small, electronic device, a GPS tracker. It had been on Lee the entire time. That explained how they knew where and who to crash into at the right moment.

"Unfortunately, I had the distinct feeling that I would have to clean up after Officer Lewis here," Elias looked down at Lewis' body and shook his head sadly. "I suppose I have you to thank for the trail of bodies in and outside the house, John?"

John didn't answer. He only glared at Elias as he too was hefted off of the floor, put into a chair and tied to it.

"Make sure the knots will hold," Elias said. "He has a knack for escaping, this one."

Sam was forced into another chair against the back of John's. The same was happening to Lionel and Lee.

"Please, let the boy go, at least," Sam said, looking at Lee. "He has no part in this."

"A fact that should have been considered much earlier, wouldn't you agree Samantha?"

Elias moved around to her as his men thoroughly bound them all to the chairs, right along with Brander and Lovell. He squatted down in front of Sam, a strange, curious smile on his lips.

"Stop for a minute," he touched his peon on the shoulder and he stopped tying Sam to the chair.

"Now that you're dead, things must be so much easier for you." Elias pulled at the bindings around her legs, loosening them as he spoke. "There's a strange sort of freedom that comes with it, isn't there?"

Behind the glasses, Elias' eyes looked past her for a moment, and rested on her again.

Fear at his meaning crawled up through her stomach and chest, spreading through her limbs until it got into her head.

"Have you told him yet?" he asked quietly.

The fear turned into terror at the question. Sam swallowed it down and looked away from him. "What are you talking about?"

"I'll take that as a firm 'no'." Elias smiled, patting her on the knee. "You are brave, Samantha. But that takes a certain kind of bravery, doesn't it? Also a certain kind… of certainty, wouldn't you say?"

"You've lost me," Sam said, meeting his eyes again. If she could have killed him with her stare, she would have right then.

"It won't matter much in the long run, anyway," he got to his feet, still smiling. "I should probably thank all of you for doing a lot of the work for me before I arrived. You see, I don't recommend trusting ex cops. They are disloyal, greedy, and a lot of the time, stupid." Elias' eyes moved over Lionel as he spoke.

"You were planning to get rid of them all along," Lionel spat angrily.

"I had hoped they would have finished the job they were assigned first, but that's life for you."

Sam, still not tied to her chair, looked up and saw Elias watching her very closely. His wheels were turning, and she didn't like it.

"Sam," he said slowly. "I have a little present for you before we leave." He walked over and pulled the hoods off of his ex henchmen. "I don't believe you know Jerrod and Casey, do you?"

Sam's eyes rested upon the two killers. They blinked in the light as their eyes adjusted, and looked back at her. They weren't much older than her, and looked much more scared than she felt.

Elias wandered over to the doorway, picked up a stray gun and approached Sam with it. Sam never took her eyes off of the two men. John was right. She found herself studying their faces, memorizing every detail, every inch, knowing that theirs were the last faces her parents saw.

A weight was set in her open hand. Sam looked down to her lap and saw the gun resting in her palm. She looked up at Elias, then at Brander and Lovell.

"Sam?" John's voice seemed very distant although he was right next to her. "Sam what's he doing?" He tried twisting around in his seat to get a better view, but he couldn't budge.

"I'm giving her the chance that doesn't come to most people," Elias answered. "You know your way around something like this, Samantha," he indicated the weapon resting in her hand, "I can personally attest to that."

Elias took her by her arms and helped her stand up. "Hold it, like I know you can."

Sam raised the weapon in both hands, pointing it at Brander first, who stared back at her like a frightened dog.

Elias was there, in her ear, like an insect looking for a nest. "It is astonishing, the high you can get out of vengeance. But you have to do it right. They have to know why, Samantha. Tell them why."

"They killed my parents," Sam said mechanically.

"Tell _them_, Samantha."

"You killed my parents," she spoke louder, to their faces. Sam cocked the weapon, and her hands were surprisingly steady as she held it.

Two shots, that's all it would take. _Bam! Bam!_ And it would be over. They would have gotten what they deserve rather than the easy punishment with parole that they'd most likely receive.

No. It had to be more than that. Perhaps she'd shoot them in a place that wasn't too vital; let them bleed; let them beg for death first. Perhaps they'd understand the pain she already knew. Then she'd give it to them, give them death, revive them somehow, and kill them all over again.

There were so many ways it could be done. There they were, her parents' killers, bound and gagged, served on a silver platter, waiting to be sliced open, carved and plated. Why did they look so afraid? How could they value their lives so highly? It was ludicrous. They had taken lives, which made theirs forfeit for Sam to do with as she pleased.

The voice in her ear spoke again. "They killed your parents, Samantha. What do you want to do with them? I'm leaving it up to you."

"I want," Sam hesitated, her reasoning fighting against the thick fog of hate that had enveloped her thoughts.

"What do you want, Samantha?"

"Sam. Would your Dad want you to murder two defenseless men?"

John's voice cut through the fog like a beam of sunlight.

Sam blinked the tears out of her eyes. They ran hotly down her face.

"What do _you_ want?" Elias' voice was louder, stronger.

"You are not a killer, Sam," John said. His voice was soft enough that Sam had to strain to hear it. "You are kind, warm. You can make people smile without even saying a word. That is not the same woman who could murder someone in cold blood."

"Where would you be if your family was still alive?" Elias' voice was back, more intense than before. "You don't know. How can you know, Samantha? You will never know, because they were taken from you – ripped out of your life by carelessness and stupidity. Take your chance now."

The internal war Sam was fighting on her own was not gaining ground in either direction. She didn't know which one was Brander or Lovell, and she didn't care. They were both responsible. Sam repositioned the weapon, holding it stiffly in front of her. She looked down the center of the gun at a spot on the forehead of the first killer.

"Sam, don't," John said. "You asked me if I took vengeance for the person I loved. I didn't. Killing is almost never the answer, Sam. You know that. You're smarter and better than this, I know you are."

"Your parents deserved better," Elias said.

Sam fired.


	11. Beauty

The gunshot echoed endlessly throughout the house. John wrenched himself around so he could see what was happening. His bindings cut into him, but he remained where he was. Sam still held the weapon stiffly in front of her. Elias was close to her, his hand on her shoulder in support.

The bullet was now buried in the sheetrock just above Brander's head. She'd missed. Sam was good enough with a weapon that John knew that it had to have been on purpose. At least, he hoped it was.

"Good," Elias said. "I know exactly what you're thinking, Samantha. You want them to know what it's like – to understand pain as it truly is."

Sam didn't answer. John watched her face very closely, and had never seen it like it was in that room that night. Normally, her lips were quick to smile, or at least shout at him. They were relaxed with the rest of her features, cold, unattached. Underneath the frozen mask, he saw the anger in every line of her face, in the tears on her cheeks.

"Sam?"

John closed his eyes, silently thanking whatever deity, if any, was responsible for Lee speaking up.

"Don't do what he says," Lee continued. "It'll make you like all of them. That's what he wants."

Sam took a breath as more tears dropped from her eyes to the floor. "It doesn't matter, sweetie," Sam said softly. "What am I now anyway?"

"You're a young woman who wants to be free," Elias said. "The only way you can be freed from all of this is to rid yourself of the men who made you." He pointed to Brander and Lovell, who were gagged, and had no chance of defending themselves. "These two murdered your family, and therefore, made you who you are, Samantha."

All of this was sadly, frighteningly familiar. John couldn't think of an answer for her as he never was able to find an answer for himself. However, Elias was wrong. Brander and Lovell didn't make Sam. No one had that power over another person no matter what they did to change that person's life.

"Sam, look at me," John said quietly. "Look at me, please."

Elias turned his head first, and Sam followed. Her eyes were red, and her face blotchy from all of the emotions boiling just beneath the surface. Though her hands were firm and steady on the weapon, her lips trembled with grief and her own frustration.

"Instead of remembering your family the way they were, if you go through with this, what happens here tonight will be the only thing that you'll remember from now on. Vengeance doesn't heal you," John's eyes moved to Elias quickly before going back to Sam. "It weakens you."

"They killed my parents," Sam said, almost as if it was a recording.

"I know, I remember," John replied gently. "You have control over what you become, not anyone else."

"What have I become, John?" Sam asked helplessly.

John had plenty of answers for her, but he would never voice them. Sam had a beauty that he rarely saw. It wasn't physical, exactly, it was more the feeling she instilled in people when she was around. And he was afraid that, if she went through with avenging her parents' deaths, she would lose some of that beauty forever.

"You have become something I didn't think existed anymore; something that I knew was impossible. You are my friend, Sam – more than that even, like you said before. Remember? Don't do this. Please."

Sam's expression changed. The cold surface began to melt, and she looked at John with those large eyes of hers, and reminded him not of the grown woman he knew, but a lost little girl.

Her arms dropped, the gun falling to her side.

Elias placed a hand over his chest. "That was very moving, John. You should have been a poet." He took the gun away from Sam and pushed her back into the chair behind John.

"It saddens me greatly to lose such talent," Elias continued as Sam was being tied to the chair, back to back with John. "I also include you in that, Samantha. I underestimated you before, and I apologize. I gave you this chance tonight, thinking that you were stronger than I believed. And it's true, you are stronger. But not as much as I had hoped."

John craned his neck to look over his shoulder at Sam. Her head was bowed, and she didn't respond. Her breaths were shaky as she wept quietly.

"Not that it matters much. Jerrod and Casey's lives ended the moment of their betrayal. I don't take well to that."

John looked ahead of him at the sound of splashing, splattering liquid on the floor. Elias' men, holding large, red gas cans, poured them out on the floors and the walls of the room. They moved into the rest of the house, dousing every room thoroughly.

The men went out when they were finished, leaving Elias and Scarface. Elias backed out as Scarface locked the front door from the inside.

"Goodbye, John. It's been very nice knowing you." Elias lit a match and dropped it on the floor as he went out the front door.

The match touched the floor and the room lit up in a second with roaring orange flames that consumed everything they touched.

"I'm sorry, John," Sam sobbed. She coughed on the smoke rising from the flames. "I never told you, I – "

"Confessions can wait, Sam," John said quickly. "Can you move at all?"

"A little bit."

"Lionel?" John squinted at the detective and his son through the flames.

"It's real tight," Lionel replied.

They all coughed and hacked at the smoke that filled the room.

"Hot, hot, _Hot!_" Sam said. John felt her jerking back and forth, twitching away from the flames that were coming too close. "I'd say it's a good time for confessions, wouldn't you?" she said, sounding more like herself.

"Fine. Lionel? I never liked the neckties you wear," John said. "Sam, we're going over in three – two – one – "

John shifted his weight along with Sam to one side. They teetered and fell to the floor.

"Hot! Hot!" Sam shouted as John pushed his legs down and freed them from the chair.

The shifting seemed to loosen the rest of the bindings a little. John moved his wrists back and forth. His eyes burned and watered from the heat and the smoke. His left hand was nearly fully out of the binding when he heard more shots fired.

John looked up to see the door burst open and two silhouettes, one female, on male running into the room.

"Harold!" Sam shouted gratefully. "Harold, I could kiss you – like a lot."

"Same goes for me," John said as Carter untied him.

"We'll have to do that some other time," Finch said as he finished freeing Sam, and moved quickly over to Lionel.

John got up and helped Sam. She moved to the door, but he held her back and stepped over to Brander and Lovell. He started on Lovell and looked up at Sam, who stood still, staring at Brander.

"Are you waiting for a personal invitation?" John shouted, snapping her out of it.

Sam shook her head and started on Brander's legs, then his hands.

"Let's go, come on! Right now!" Carter shouted over the flames. She helped Sam with Brander as John yanked Lovell to his feet.

They ran toward the door, Lee and Harold heading up the group, and out onto the lawn as a fire truck pulled up to the curb.

John breathed the cool night air deeply into his lungs and smiled, watching Sam attack Finch with a hug. Carter and Lionel were already escorting Brander and Lovell into the back seat of a squad car that pulled up behind the fire engine. He stood on the grass for a moment, just breathing.

"Damn you," Sam said. She stood next to him, watching the squad car pull away, and Lionel as he hugged his son.

"Why?" John asked.

"I could have done it."

"I know."

"You did it again. You manipulated me, pushed all the right buttons, said all the _right_ things to get me to do what you wanted."

John looked down at her, hiding his surprise at her suspicions. "Hey," he said and Sam looked up at him. Her face reflected the light of the fire. It was dirty with soot, and her eyes were still red. Yet John smiled a little. The beauty was still intact. "How can you be so sure those were manipulation tactics?"

Sam scoffed at him. "Because that, Mr. Reese, is what you do," she said sarcastically.

"You know what else I do?"

"What?"

"I tell the truth."

* * *

"The change in plea does make things a little simpler. Are the defendants open to a bargain?"

The wooden bench Sam sat on outside of the courtroom was beginning to get uncomfortable. She sat with John, her phone in her hand, waiting to learn of the fate that awaited Brander and Lovell for killing her parents.

John seemed so calm while Sam could barely sit still. She continued crossing and recrossing her legs, and fidgeting with her hands in her lap until John grabbed onto one of her hands and held it on the bench in between them.

"This isn't the same judge?"

"Judge Thurston was potentially compromised," John whispered. "In order for anything to stick, we had to get another judge in there."

"And this one isn't compromised?" Sam asked.

John returned her gaze, his eyes glinted a little. "Judge Gates is fair, trust me. And he also understands the… situation."

"We are open to a plea bargain, your honor," the defense attorney said.

"Well then," Judge Gates sounded satisfied. "There isn't much more to do here, is there? The guilty plea bargain will be set with the state. Once everything's agreed upon, the defendants will return to this court before beginning their sentence. Court is adjourned."

Sam put her finger to the piece in her ear and heard the smack of the gavel on the bench, and the sound of people beginning to leave the courtroom.

"That was fast," she said.

"It is when no one is around to argue the point."

They stood up as the doors to the courtroom opened. Finch was one of the first people out of the court room. He limped over to them and nodded. Everything went as planned.

"What will be the bargain?" Sam asked.

"Most likely twenty five to life, give or take ten years," Finch answered.

"With parole?"

"Depends on what the D.A. asks for."

Sam nodded and looked at the floor as Harold patted her arm.

The rest of the court room was emptying. It was a large group. Most people usually turn up for the good cases, otherwise known as murders. Those were always the juiciest. This one must have been a little disappointing.

"Let's head out," John said as he turned and jabbed Sam hard in the ribs.

She dropped her phone on the floor. "Ow! Jeez, what was that for?" Sam bent down to pick up her phone when someone reached it first. The hand was a woman's with dark skin. She wore a wedding ring. Sam glanced up to the owner of the hand to thank her, and felt her heart drop to her stomach when she saw Eva's dark eyes looking back at her.

Sam choked and forgot to breathe as she stood up, and Eva, her best friend, handed her the phone.

"I think you dropped this," she said with a smile.

"Thank you," Sam said. "Were you just in there?" She indicated the court room.

"Yeah, we all were," Eva glanced behind her as Leo approached, holding Ben, who smiled with a few tiny teeth in the front of his mouth. "My good friend, it was her family that was killed."

Sam found Eva's eyes again, fighting the urge to fall upon her friend and hold onto her for dear life. "She's lucky to have someone like you to support her," Sam said. "You have a beautiful family."

"Thank you. I'm Eva," Eva held out her hand.

"Sam," she took Eva's hand in a handshake, blinking back the tears that were coming. "How old is your son?"

"Almost nine months now."

"They're fun at that age, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Eva laughed. "He tries to get into everything."

Sam laughed too. "It was good to meet you, Eva."

"Maybe I'll see you around later?"

"That would be nice," Sam glanced at Leo again, who winked at her.

Eva reached past Sam and poked at John, who turned to look at her. They exchanged a smile before Eva took one last look at Sam, and left the courthouse.


	12. Living

Sometimes, using your spare time to think isn't the best thing to do.

Those are the times when you start questioning yourself, who you are, and what you will be. And Sam could think of nothing else since that night in the safe house with Elias. She had come so close to becoming a murderer that night, closer than she ever would have believed possible. Those pictures that Donnelly had shown her could have been something she caused. The blood on the carpet and the walls could have been spilled by her in that house.

The most frightening thought, besides the obvious, since that night was the occasional regret that entered Sam's mind at _not_ pulling the trigger when she could have, when she knew she would have hit her mark. She'd never know the satisfaction. The craving for justice or vengeance would go unfulfilled. Elias made a strong argument. It almost made her shut John out all together.

And, when she wasn't kicking herself or feeling guilty over those thoughts, Sam found herself wracking her brain at John's words. He said he tells the truth. Did that mean he truly did care for her as more than a friend? And if that was true, what did that mean, exactly?

The questions outweighed the answers, and Sam couldn't deal with them anymore. Something had to give, and she knew, deep down, that it had to be her.

The day after the courthouse, Sam reached the top of the stairs of John and Finch's HQ, and hesitated walking in. She eased her way into the doorway and saw Finch's eyes pop up over the many monitors on his desk.

"Is John here?" she asked.

"He's out working. He said you needed a little time off. I didn't think we'd be seeing you today. Is everything all right?"

Sam breathed a sigh of relief and walked into the sad excuse for an office. "Everything's fine, Harold. I'm not going to stay. I just wanted to tell you that I've decided – I'm going to be leaving for a while. If that's okay with you, of course. This isn't exactly a job where you get vacation time, I know."

Finch turned to her, giving her his undivided attention as she walked around the desk and stood next to him. "Well, you never were officially initiated, Miss Watts."

"I died. I thought that was the initiation."

Finch smiled a little. "May I ask what brought you to this decision?"

"A lot of things," Sam stammered and looked away from him. "I had the chance to kill my parents' killers, and I didn't, but not because of me. I – um – I just need to get away for a while, get my head on straight."

"I think I can understand that, Sam," Finch stood up so they were level with each other. "However, I can't be certain if Mr. Reese will."

Sam nodded. "That's why I wanted you to tell him for me."

Finch's lips got smaller and his eyes a little wider. He didn't like the idea. "I think he would prefer hearing it from you personally."

"Well, Harold, that's where our opinions differ," Sam smiled, hoping that she was being convincing. "I also wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me."

She kissed Harold on the cheek and hugged him tightly.

When she pulled away, he still held that ever present curious expression. "This is only an observation, but it sounds more like you're not planning on coming back."

Sam's hands still rested on his arms, and she smiled, trying to keep what she really felt from showing. "It'll be a while, Harold. But I'll let you know, okay?" She kissed him again.

"What's going on?"

Sam's hands dropped to her sides and her eyes rolled up to the ceiling as Harold looked past her.

John's amused tone came from the doorway of the office. Sam kicked herself. She should have just said 'Goodbye Harold!' and left. No muss, no fuss. But no, she had to dilly-dally and take too long.

Finch didn't respond, leaving the answer up to Sam. She turned, and saw John's face, his lips turned slightly upwards, and his eyes soft. She approached him, took his hand and gave it a squeeze. She glanced back at Finch. "Look after him for me, will you?"

Sam then found John's eyes. "Goodbye, John," was all she could muster. Before he had a chance to reply, she brushed past him and was headed down the stairs.

She made it to the landing and to the door before she heard her name.

"Sam," John called as he ran down the steps, coming after her. "Sam, Finch says you're leaving?"

"Yeah," she said as he reached her. "I'm going out of town for a while. I figured what with the FBI looking for me and Elias knowing I'm still hanging around... and I – I just needed some time, you know – "

"Where will you go?"

"I'm not sure yet. Maybe I'll test out that passport Finch made for me," she joked lamely.

"It'll work," John confirmed. "When will you be back?"

Oh, _now_ he's acting like he cares! How extraordinary! Sam remembered wanting to hit him sometimes and kiss him at other times, but never at the same time. It was a strange feeling.

"I don't know," she answered and felt the shaking in her voice. She had to get out of there now if she was going to keep it together.

"What's wrong, Sam?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," she answered too quickly. "I'm – um – I just need to straighten some things out." She couldn't look at him anymore or she'd burst.

He took another step toward her, but Sam stepped back towards the door.

"Things?"

"What? Are you Mr. Twenty Questions all of a sudden?" she snapped.

"That's not the sudden thing that's happening here," John snapped back.

"I know, okay? _I_ know! But it's the only thing I can think to do right now. I can't – I can't be like this anymore."

John blinked at her as she found his eyes again. They were a lovely blue, like the bright blue of the sky after the ending of a storm.

"You know, John," Sam said, going for broke. "I almost find it comforting that you were in love once. It just wasn't with me."

His face fell. "Sam –"

"No, it's my fault. It wasn't you at all. This is on me." She shook her head and sighed. "It makes you human, flawed and imperfect like the rest of us." Sam wiped her face, willing herself to remain steady."And maybe, one day, when you want to live again..."

She lifted herself up on her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and smiled at the feeling of his arms around her. "Take care of Lionel and Harold for me."

John laughed. "What about Carter?"

"She can take care of herself."

Sam felt his face against hers, and breathed him in. She wanted to somehow freeze this moment in her mind, and remember everything; his scent, his touch, the prickle of his stubble on her skin, the sound of his voice, everything. "I think you already know this. In fact, I know you do," she said into his neck in a weak voice. "And it probably doesn't matter much. But I love you, okay?" The words were out so quietly and so fast that Sam wasn't sure she actually said them.

She felt John's hesitation. He exhaled slowly.

"Okay," John said softly.

"Stay safe for me."

Sam let him go. Their hands lingered together until she slipped her fingers away as she pushed her way out the door, and onto the sunlit street.

* * *

Just a little note. I got the age of Fusco's son wrong. I already wrote and posted that chapter before I rewatched the episode where we find out how old Lee really is. He's only nine. Oops. I was too lazy to fix it. :P

Thanks for reading and for your encouraging reviews!

You guys are awesome!


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